


Mating Games Round 2 Challenge 2: The Beast Within

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Knotting, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Art, BDSM, Biting, Blindfolds, Blood, Bloodplay, Bondage, Breathplay, Breeding, Canonical Character Death, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, First Time, Fisting, Frottage, Fuck Or Die, Heat Cycles, Humiliation, Incest, Knifeplay, Knotting, Magic Made Them Do It, Male Lactation, Marking, Mating, Medical Kink, Mpreg, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Objectification, Omega Verse, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painful Sex, Pegging, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Themes, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Scenting, Scratching, Self-Bondage, Self-Inflicted Injury, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Sex in Beta Form, Strap-Ons, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Sex, Urination, Vaginal Fisting, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Werewolf Claws, Xeno, aggressive sex, consensual sex by magic potion, dildo knotting, knife and pain play, petting, stalker tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 112,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week two, round two of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/14113.html">FAQ</a> on LJ</p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/16893.html">Voting Post</a>!</p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A - with warnings and pairings

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING -- chapters 4 and 8 contain artwork that is not safe for work (NSFW).

1\. 

**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Author's Note:** Established Relationship Future!AU where Stiles is in college and Derek also decides to go back to school and yeah I dunno they have a Really Fucking Nice Loft and stuff and Derek also wears his glasses more and starts taking Russian Lit classes and just being the Worst and Hottest version of himself possible.

*  
Derek is a mess leading up to the Blood Moon.

He drags Stiles away from his classwork with frantic eyes, ignoring squawks of protest. Going over detailed charts they drafted together (rather, that Derek traced while Stiles made occasional voice starts to take that old edge. 

The one that sounds a little like i-hate-myself and a lot like everything-i-love-is-everything-i-ruin. 

Stiles doesn’t let that slide.

When Derek is spread out on the floor in front of the couch, surrounded by hi-liters and pens and books that smell old and damp, Stiles drags him to sit between his spread legs. If he rubs the right spot beneath Derek’s left shoulderblade, Derek will shift seamlessly, arching up into Stiles’ long fingers. 

He’ll turn to nip at the heel of his hand with his fangs, let his eyes flutter shut as thumbs trace his heavy brow. Stiles lets his hands say what he can’t verbalize. Lets them say i trust you; you should sleep more; you’re precious to me.

As nights count down, Derek worries more. Ditches Tolstoyan Theology 455 in order to drive up to the mountains, where he shifts fully, running until his paws ache.

But as it turned out, the Blood Moon doesn’t make Derek more violent, or more aggressive - not even close.

*

“Stiles, please.”

He’d been insatiable since Stiles walked in the door - Stiles found him in their bedroom, an old tee shirt (a shrunken, hole-riddled relic of his high school days) balled in his fist. Derek was uncharacteristically loud, whining in his throat as he stroked himself.

And so yeah, Stiles had loosened the tie he wore to his final presentation on the Evolution of Druid Mythology in Scandinavian Europe, and let Derek fuck into his throat. And yeah, he’d had his one pair of dress pants clawed open, but if it meant he had an especially heavy-browed face between his thighs, claws audibly snagging against the carpet, who gave a fuck?

“What does it feel like?” Stiles asked, shoving blueberries into his swollen mouth. Having opened the blinds fully, the deep crimson of the full moon was more eerie and entrancing as he’d thought it would be. 

“Like everything around me is sharp,” Derek’s voice was muffled; he’d locked himself in the bathroom so Stiles could eat. The previous attempts they’d made to eat together had just resulted in a sticky mess on the counter next to the fridge, some nearly-too-deep bites on the back of Stiles’ neck, and the shredding of some once very beloved sweatpants. 

Stiles had come so hard he blacked out, Derek’s throat rippling as his nose pressed into the dark thatch of hair beneath Stiles’ navel.

“It’s like when you jump off the diving board - that second when you’re suspended in the air.” 

Stiles licked cantaloupe juice from his wrist, deciding fruit was a two-for-one blessing: what else could be both hydrating and filling? 

“That sounds kinda scary.”

“It is,” Derek’s voice was soft. “But you’re the water below.” 

Derek was quiet while Stiles washed out his bowl, then arranged himself on their bed, face-down. Stiles was just as vocal as ever, hissing as he pressed slick fingers into the tightness Derek had only eased his tongue into, unable to calm enough to retract his claws. 

“Come on out, Big Bad,” Stiles was too breathy to sound coy, fingers clumsy at this angle, skittering across his prostate, wringing high yips from his bruised throat.

Derek unlocked the bathroom door and was plastered against Stiles’ back immediately, setting his canines against purple marks on Stiles’ long neck. 

“Can I just -” Hot hands spanned the small of Stiles’ back as Derek trailed off, licking the taut skin behind the jut of Stiles’ jaw. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Spitting into his palm, Derek bracketed Stiles’ thighs with his own. After slicking his cock, wet sound of foreskin sliding over the head, Derek raised up, letting Stiles slick the tight skin behind his balls with his own saliva before tucking the head of Derek’s dick between his thighs.

Squeezing his legs together, Stiles rested on his elbows as Derek ploughed into the tight space where the hair was coarse, and dark - skin unmarked. Splotches of color heating his cheeks, his shoulder burned where stubble scraped against it, his cock leaked where it was trapped beneath his belly. Stiles rocked his hips back to counter each of Derek’s powerful thrusts.

“Derek, I need more.”

* * *

2.

 **Warnings: knotting, accidental knotting, dirty talk, maybe fisting, werewolf claws**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

The first time Derek knotted Stiles, it wasn't on purpose. Stiles was going down on him with a slick mouth and the suction deep and tight. Derek came like his orgasm had been shocked out of him, and then kept coming. Stiles practically had to unhinge his jaw to get the swollen bulb of Derek's knot out of his mouth, almost had to get his stomach pumped to keep from getting sick on Derek's come. 

But this time--this time they're ready. Stiles is slick and panting, as he should be. Derek's been slowly working him with his fingers for the past 20 minutes, now he's got four in, could probably manage his fist, and Stiles is strung out with it, rocking back and begging like he does sometimes, only managing to get the beginnings and ends of words out. 

"You like that?" Derek asks, because it's important, and Stiles always forgets to say yes unless he's asked.

Stiles makes a broken sound, then hisses, "Yessss," when Derek twists his fingers. "F- ugh. Ready. I'm ready."

Derek pets his free hand up Stiles' back, across his shoulders. "You sure?"

Stiles is on his hands and knees, ass in the air and cock hard against his belly. He summons enough power to lift his head up and look over his shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure, okay?" he says. "I think I'm know whether I'm ready to get fucked or not." 

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, at his sudden verbosity, but it doesn't matter, Stiles has already folded his arms onto a pillow and pressed his face into them. Derek doesn't have to be told again. He pulls his fingers out of the mess of Stiles' ass and lines his cock up, presses inside. Stiles groans so loud Derek swears he can feel the vibrations where their bodies meet: Derek's stomach, their thighs, and right to the base of Derek's cock. 

"Move," Stiles demands, and shoves himself backward. 

Just for that, Derek slams his hips forward.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck me," Stiles breathes, like he doesn't even know he's saying it, like he can't not.

Derek bottoms out and pulls back to slam in again, and hooks two fingers into Stiles mouth, and gets his other hand under Stiles to try and ring an orgasm out of him: the only sounds in the room are their breathing, Derek's balls slapping agains Stiles' ass, and the slick sound of the lube as Derek jerks at Stiles' cock. 

Stiles sucks on Derek's fingers, and Derek twists his hips to make Stiles groan. There's not a lot of room to move like this. He has almost no leverage, but it feels good, too good, and if they keep this up he's going to come before Stiles does. He doesn't though. It only takes another twist and a few jerks of his wrist before Stiles is spilling over his hand, dotting the sheets with come.

Derek can smell it, acidic and slightly bitter, but Stiles, it's Stiles. It smells like stiles and the scent is there, beneath them, on them, all around him, and Derek can't even move for the way it gut punches him, how he and Stiles and Stiles' come are the only thing he can smell.

"Fuck. Come on. Fuck me harder," Stiles pants, because Derek's stopped moving. So Derek does. Derek will fuck Stiles anyway he wants Derek to, whenever he wants. Derek is so fucking gone for him, and he can't stop, can't stop, can't stop, can't keep himself from digging his teeth into the spot at the back of Stiles' neck, letting his knot grow in Stiles' ass, and pressing his claws into the mattress. 

"Yes," Stiles hisses.. "Come on, come on. Are you coming?" 

"Close," Derek pants, and shoves in then out again. 

"I want you, I want you, I want you to," Stiles breathes, like a mantra, like a prayer, like he's so blissed out from coming that he can't say anything else. 

"Trying, trying," Derek says, but then he does, kisses Stiles' neck, collapses against him, and presses him into the mattress with his body so they can wait for the knot to go down, rubs I love yous into any part of Stiles that he can reach with his blunt, human hands.

* * *

3.

**Warnings: BDSM, Bondage, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, Marking, Orgasm Delay/Denial  
Pairing: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski **

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Peter gasped, arching under the press of silver claws to his back.

“Dude?” Stiles pulled back, shocked at the Peter’s reaction. “Are you… are you _enjoying_ this?”

Peter pulled hard against his restraints, the rowan-cored silver chains rattling as he chased Stiles’ retreating hand. “You’ve been carving a symbol into my back with rune-carved Pandora’s claws for the past twenty minutes,” he gasped out, shuddering. “What did you expect?”

Stiles swallowed and watched thin trails of blood drip down Peter’s well-muscled skin. The aura-sensing sigil was beautiful, and Stiles jolted at the realization that he _liked_ seeing Peter’s skin hold his mark. “Not this.” He reached out again and dragged a claw down Peter’s spine - not to mark him, but to watch Peter writhe.

“You’re going to act surprised that I’m masochistic?” Peter admonished breathlessly.

Stiles watched in fascination as the deep tears mended themselves into pink scars, the healing interrupted by the magic of the claws.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter groaned, pulling hard on the chains in an attempt to get closer. It worked - his back brushed against Stiles’ front, and Stiles leaned into it before he realized what he was doing. “Stiles, _please_.”

“Jesus,” Stiles hissed as he pressed his hips into Peter’s ass. Four years of thoroughly exploring his sexuality in college, and he’d managed to miss _this_?

The marking took on a new urgency as Stiles cut the symbol he’d inked out in advance. He kept the pressure steady, even, and deep, carving lines and knots mercilessly as Peter cried out and twisted against the cold brick wall. The abandoned station hadn’t been Stiles’ first choice, but it served its purpose. Stiles couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d be able to chain a werewolf by his wrists and ankles, spread-eagled facing the wall, without getting noticed.

It also meant that Stiles could do _other things_ without fear of being caught. Or judged.

“I like how much you’re enjoying this,” Stiles mused. “And here I thought that you being restrained, with nothing but jeans between you and your tormentor, would start to get old at some point.”

“Depends on the tormentor,” Peter hissed, the attempt at snark muted by the brokeness of his voice.

Stiles took a step back and pushed his hand against his erection, which had _really_ enjoyed both Peter’s words and the way they were spoken.

“Do it,” Peter begged. “Fuck me.” He looked stoned, eyes distant with lust, body sagging with a pliancy Stiles had never seen in Peter before.

“When the symbol is done,” Stiles promised huskily. He continued carving his mark into Peter’s back with unhurried concentration, biting and licking at Peter’s neck and shoulders while Peter panted and begged and writhed.

“Going to fuck you now,” Stiles growled when he was done, pulling down his own zipper before freeing Peter’s. He tugged Peter’s jeans down just enough to reveal his ass, opened wide by the forced spread of his legs.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Stiles,” Peter cried with a shudder. “Do it! Fuck me now!”

Fortunately, Stiles wasn’t in the habit of going anywhere unprepared. He retrieved a condom from his wallet, rolled it on, and slicked it up with lube from a small travel packet. He pressed into Peter slowly, relishing the cry it tore from Peter’s throat. Then Stiles pressed his claws to Peter’s neck, hard enough to mark, and started thrusting.

“You’re so good for me,” Stiles groaned. “Taking my mark, taking my cock. Making me come.”

“Yes, _yes_ , come,” Peter groaned, baring his throat to Stiles’ claws.

Stiles’ orgasm was unexpected and overwhelming. He shouted as he came, losing himself in Peter’s body for long, blissful moments as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. When he finally pulled out of Peter, he felt boneless and more sated than he could ever remember feeling after sex.

“Was it good?” Peter asked, sagging against his restraints.

“So good,” Stiles assured him, pulling up Peter’s jeans, ignoring the erection there. He finished freeing Peter, unbuckling him carefully before guiding him to sit against the wall. “We’ll get you home and cleaned up. And when we’re sure the mark worked, you’ll get your reward.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Peter sighed, leaning his head against Stiles’ thigh. “Whatever you want.”

Stiles grinned at the words and turned away, new plans already forming in his mind.

* * *

4.

 **Warnings:** Heat cycles, Uncle/Nephew incest, Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Self-bondage, Self-inflicted injury  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Derek Hale

Peter is chained firmly to the bed in the old basement, writhing and twisting on the bare mattress, the sheets kicked down to the foot of the bed in his restlessness. He’s hard and aching, the cold air uncomfortable on his hot skin. He’s on his knees, face hovering over the bed, mouth open and panting, his arms suspended from the top of the metal bed frame by the chains. He’s desperate for someone, anyone, to come and fill his empty hole, but no one knows where he is, and no one goes by the old Hale house anymore, so no one will find him. It doesn’t stop him from presenting himself for hours at a time. 

He spends the second day on his back, giving his knees a rest, but still with his legs spread wide and pulled nearly to his chest most of the time, leaving his ass on display. 

It’s on the third day of his self-imposed confinement, when he’s twisted the chains around so much he can’t really feel his fingers anymore, that he feels something warm. He moans automatically, lying exhausted on his side, and tries to lift his head to see. Warm hands skate over his thigh, hip, up his ribs to his shoulder, and he tilts his head back to bare his neck while simultaneously trying to move back into a position to present himself, the cuffs pulling on his wrists. The hands hold him still, and a moment later the chains go loose and the cuffs are removed. The rush of feeling back into his hands makes his fingertips hurt, and he whines into a mouth that’s surrounded by the scruff of a beard. 

Two pairs of hands maneuver him on the bed, get him up on his knees with his legs spread, and he screams as a finger breaches his hole, throwing himself back on it and nearly sending himself to the floor before they catch him. His ass gets fed two fingers while they’re still steadying him, and he sobs into the mattress, grabbing at the sheets he can feel. The fingers move to three, then four, and he thinks he’s pleading but he can’t be sure. 

Then, wonderful relief, as a glorious thick cock is pushed into his ass and fucks him roughly. He moans and rolls his head side to side, spreading his legs and arching his back to make himself more desirable. A knot splits him open in record time and he cries as he spills onto the bed. His head is lifted and guided to a hot cock that he sucks on greedily until his mouth is filled with come, and then he keeps sucking, pleading for more. 

The next few days are spent with him being spitroasted, the men taking turns at his holes. He’s idly aware of being fed while skewered on a knotted cock, fingers slipping grapes and pieces of cheese, meat, and bread between his lips. On the fifth day of his confinement he’s able to realize the scruffy faces are different; one is dark haired, one is light haired, but he can’t tell more than that before he drifts off with someone’s cock drooling into his mouth. 

The last of the heat finally dissipates on the eighth day, and Peter is so exhausted he can’t move from his position face down in a pillow. There’s a wet spot underneath him, and he grinds into it minutely, not even sure what it is. Hands come up to cover spots on his skin, ass, hip, sliding up his spine, and help him roll over onto his back. He’s soft for the first time in a week as he looks up, staring first into Chris’s eyes, and then Derek’s. 

“What?” he croaks out. 

“Come on, you didn’t think we’d notice you were gone?” Chris asks. 

“You thought we’d leave you to suffer alone?” Derek adds. Peter whines and twitches his hands towards them, and they curl up at his sides, petting and soothing him as he cries softly, surrounded in their embrace. Later, they hold him up between them in the shower and help wash away the come and sweat that’s soaked into his skin, and later still, they curl up together in a clean bed and soothe him to sleep, the three of them tangled up in each other. Alpha, beta, and omega.

* * *

5.

 **Warnings:** Rough sex  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Stiles

There’s something off in the Stilinski boy’s scent. It’s reminiscent of asphalt that’s been baking too long in the sun.

It’s not the first time he’s shown up to a Pack meeting since the death of the little hunter girl—the death that left Peter grinning so wide his fangs snick-snacked against each other. This is just like every other. He can’t sit still. He’s uncomfortable in his own skin and Peter almost fancies he can _see_ it crawl.

He stands next to the wall of grated windows and crosses his arms over his chest, wrapping spidery fingers almost desperately over the balls of his shoulders, as if he’s physically holding himself together.

He’s entertaining, like an art installation camouflaged in everyday life, but—even so—Peter would normally never pay him much mind. Only, tonight, Stiles’ gaze keeps flashing his way before skittering away.

He still has that look of prey he’d had from the moment Peter first laid eyes on him. Wide, Bambi eyes that announced his innocence and his weakness in the same expression. It had never been a lack of strength with this one though. His weakness was one of self—of being seen as not good enough. It was why his answer to Peter’s proposal had been a lie.

He hadn’t wanted to be a werewolf, but he had wanted to belong in a way that couldn’t be questioned.

He doesn’t shuffle out, shoulders hunched, eyes trained on sneakers, as soon as Derek’s finished with them. This time, he lingers, watches Derek follow Scott out. Scott, who still doesn’t want him, but who can no longer keep his head above water. His best friend is unrecognizable, his first girlfriend dead.

Peter’s expecting a conversation about the Ctrl+Z equivalent to that particular state of being any day now.

Perhaps that’s what’s behind Stiles’ slow exit. Somehow, Peter doesn’t think he can focus on anything past his own unraveling.

He swallows, loud in the void between them. He doesn’t pick his feet up any longer when he walks as if he’s actively trying to sink into the ground beneath him.

Peter grabs his arm as he moves to pass. He won’t be dancing around it for another week while Stiles gets his courage, ire, nerve up. Whatever it is he thinks he needs to broach this.

Stiles turns into it instantly as though the movement not only hasn’t taken him by surprise, but he’d been anticipating it.

Peter’s eyes flash blue and it’s a weakness, a sign of his own caught off guard state.

The change in color sends a thrill down Stiles’ spine and Peter’s close enough that he can feel the physical echo of it. His eyes are downcast, long lashes guarding his expression. “I know what it meant now.” He looks up, moon-pale and cracked around the edges. “ _It_ knew.” He pulls back his plaid overshirt, exposes his wrist.

It had been instinct in that garage that led Peter to make the offer, instinct that pulled tender skin to his jaws. He’d told himself it was a way of making Scott fall in, another tie secured—like Melissa would’ve been, but none of that explained the _where_.

“You offered it to me but forced it on Scott, Lydia. You bit them on their sides but me, you would’ve taken my wrist.”

Peter feels the shift drain out of him and smirks, lips curving smoothly.

Rage contorts Stiles’ features. He’s reaching up before Peter can stop him, digging blunt nails into the bare curve of his neck and Peter snarls, roars, challenged wolf in every cell of him.

Stiles’ eyes spark, relief and arousal pooling warmly and Peter knows what he wants.

He digs his claws into the small of Stiles’ back, lifts him with nails that tear into skin and presses him back against a wall of brick. Stiles wants to be hurt, thinks he _deserves_ to be hurt. The only pleasure he can bear laced with pain and he knows Peter will give it to him. Is perhaps the only one who will.

Stiles licks into his mouth, tongue bathing his fangs, nicking himself purposefully. He won’t let the wolf draw back, even when Peter mangles his mouth. He keeps his nails dug in while he spreads his thighs around Peter’s hips. He wants to be fucked, wants to stare into the eyes of a monster and writhe in pain while taking his pleasure.

Peter’s only so happy to oblige.

* * *

6.

 **Warnings:** nipple clamps, vibrators (mentioned), knotting  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

Surprisingly, Derek was the vanilla one in the relationship, once he finally got his head out of his ass.

Stiles wanted to try _everything_.

The first time Stiles waggled the nipple clamps at Derek, he wondered if he’d maybe actually asked for bondage, including whips and chains. 

Derek looked at Stiles; all wounded eyes and clenched jaw.

He came hard and long about a second after Stiles licked around the first nipple. 

Stiles nobly resisted saying, “I told you so, dude.”

When Stiles brought a remote controlled vibrator home, Derek refused point-blank. There may actually have been a “Fuck you, Stiles. That will _never_ go into my ass.”

He howled, his mouth tight around Stiles’ cock, as the vibrator drilled into him from behind.

When Stiles asked Derek to knot him, Derek fled, hiding out in the preserve for two days until Scott and Isaac tracked him down , dragging him home.

He arrived back and roared in fury, smelling sex and come over almost every surface in the house. Only some of it was Stiles’.

“What the fuck has been going on here?” Derek spun in circles, desperate to find Stiles.

“Um,” Scott said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well….”

Isaac bravely spoke up, “Stiles had a party.”

Scott crossed his arms defensively when Derek leveled a red-eyed Alpha glare at him. “You ran away.” He stopped speaking.

“So?” Derek prompted when it looked like Scott wasn’t going say anything else.

“Stiles wanted to know what a werewolf knot looks like,” Isaac explained.

Scott shoved him. “Dude!” He did some sort of complicated eyebrow thing that Derek had no idea how to translate.

“He wanted a demonstration,” Isaac continued defiantly.

“Oh fuck.” Scott started backing away when Derek growled at Isaac. 

“We just showed him!” Isaac added, ducking behind Scott.

Derek stopped growling. “You _showed_ him?”

Both betas nodded. “Totally for scientific purposes,” Scott assured him. 

The side-eye from Isaac made Derek want to laugh. Scott was beyond clueless sometimes.

“Where is Stiles?” Derek asked again. 

Scott waved towards the stairs. “He said he was going to have a nap.”

Derek took the stairs two at a time. He was going to have to teach Stiles a lesson about werewolf possessiveness.

Stiles was naked in Derek’s bed. He lay on his stomach, one arm beneath a pillow, face smashed into the feathered softness.

Derek traced the line of the triskele on Stiles’ shoulder, smiling at the memory of watching the ink branding Stiles’ skin, marking him as Derek’s own.

“Finished being a wuss?” Stiles’ voice was muffled by the pillow, but Derek could hear him just fine.

“Shut up,” Derek ordered. Surprisingly, Stiles did.

Derek ran his hand down Stiles’ back, into the dip of his spine, the curve of his ass. When he touched Stiles’ hole he found it loose, wet, open. “You’ve been playing with other boys?” He could barely speak through the sudden drop of his teeth.

“Playing with other toys,” Stiles corrected him.

Every instinct ordered Derek to take, rut, breed, possess. He stripped quickly, wanting his skin on Stiles’ so that the scent of anyone else would vanish.

He rubbed himself all along Stiles’ back, relishing in the low whine that started in Stiles’ throat. He nipped at skin wherever he could reach, pleased with the bright red bite marks that signaled his ownership.

He notched his cock between Stiles’ ass cheeks, rocking as he felt the lube coat his dick. Stiles’ breathing was harsh and quick. Derek reached between their bodies and tested Stiles’. The lovely slick give of his body made Derek want to howl.

He didn’t wait. He couldn’t. He pushed into Stiles in a long, slow glide, taking care not to push too hard, too fast. Stiles gasped, lifting his hips, pressing eagerly back against Derek.

Derek wanted to fuck. He wanted to ram himself so hard into Stiles that his mate wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. Instead, he kept his movements deliberate and measured. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep control for too long.

He felt his knot swell, catching sweetly at Stiles’ rim every time he pulled out. Stiles moaned at the feeling of fullness. Derek couldn’t hear pain so he carried on until he couldn’t move any more.

Locked together, Derek rocked against Stiles in a lazy rhythm that didn’t falter until they both eventually fell asleep.

Turns out Derek wasn’t so vanilla after all.

* * *

7.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek 

“You jerk!”

Derek had just enough time to duck the book that came whizzing toward his head before he turned to look at his boyfriend. “What the hell?!?”

Stiles scowled at him. “I know the last time you were in a relationship, it was with a psychotic bitch, so let me explain a few things to you. When one party has an amazing dick that can do awesome things like fucking _knot_ and that party doesn’t bother to inform the other party about their ability, then he can’t complain when he doesn’t get laid for the next, like, ever!”

“You think I have an amazing dick?”

Stiles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Derek, I think your dick is amazing,” he said in the tone of voice usually reserved for assuring toddlers that there really was no such thing as a drain monster. He tried to remind himself that he was furious with Derek and that meant he did _not_ want to cuddle him to death just because he lit up like a chandelier over one lousy compliments. “But that’s not the point. Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

A slow, predatory smile spread across Derek’s lips and Stiles’ heart kicked into overdrive, but he couldn’t make himself move as Derek actually _prowled_ towards him. “I heard amazing dick,” he said, voice dropping into low tones that made Stiles want to strip naked and rub against him for the next several months. “And awesome knot. And then there was a lot of whining about you not having gotten knotted yet.”

It hadn’t been whining. It had been a thoroughly justified complaint about a lack of communication in the relationship and Stiles was going to tell Derek just that once he managed to get his brain to do more than go _Guh_ at the way Derek’s hand delved into the back of his jeans to squeeze his ass. “Not whining,” he managed to get out, and that really was deserving of a prize or something.

Apparently Derek thought so too, because he rubbed hard over Stiles’ hole and Stiles let out a sound he’d only heard himself make a few times before as he grabbed frantically for Derek’s shirt to keep himself upright. “Are you sure? Because that sounded a lot like you wanting my knot. Right here and right now, but if you don’t -”

Another high-pitched keening sound slipped out as Stiles tried to pull Derek closer so he could grind against his cock. Or his thigh. Stiles really wasn’t picky, but he _needed_ friction against his dick, if only because he wanted to pretend he wasn’t two seconds from losing it just because Derek was rubbing over his hole and talking about knotting him.

Derek hummed and pressed a little harder, and who knew cotton underwear could feel this damn good against his skin? It must be some kind of magical wolfy ability, like the knot, something designed to render a mere human like Stiles powerless to do anything but shudder and whine for more. “You really need it, don’t you? You need that knot filling you up, need to stretch open around it.”

“Yeah,” he whimpered, shuddering as heat washed through him with the thought of Derek’s knot, opening him wider than he’d ever been, hard and full inside him. “Fuck, yeah.”

Derek’s hand disappeared and Stiles started to protest, but then his clothes were being stripped away, and he couldn’t argue with that. “There’s no going back from this. If I knot you, you’re mine. And I don’t share.” He emphasized the point with a hard yank that pulled Stiles’ jeans and underwear down, leaving his dick slapping up against his stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, yanking his shirt off and frantically toeing out of his shoes. He needed to be naked five minutes ago, because he had to get Derek inside him _now_. When Derek didn’t do anything else, Stiles glared at him. “You’d better not be trying to talk yourself out of this,” he warned him. He’d been promised a knot and he was going to get it. “Because if you don’t get over here and knot me right the fuck now, I’ll - I’ll wash all your shirts with wolfsbane!”

“You already did that,” Derek reminded him with a smirk. He pushed Stiles down and crawled over him. “Now shut up and I’ll show you what that book didn’t cover.”

Stiles was only too happy to do just that.

* * *

8.

 **Warnings:** Peter is a creeper, allusions to stalkery behavior  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Peter

There's something different about her bed. When she left this morning, it was neatly made and it's _still_ neatly made, but there's… something different. She doesn't know what it is, couldn't have described it to another living soul, but she knows, deep within her, in the place where the part of her that she doesn't like to acknowledge lives: _someone has been here._

When she dreams that night, she dreams of the forest, of running through it wearing only her skin. She dreams of eyes so blue they burn.

She dreams of white teeth and red, red blood.

\--

Lydia wakes with a gasp, clutches her sheets, catches her breath. She's no longer sixteen and weak, no longer called by the spirit of a dead man. She is a powerful woman, a harbinger of death. 

She holds her hands up, counts her fingers one by one. When the shaking subsides, she rolls over, buries her head in the pillow and breathes in the scent of the forest.

\--

She can feel it sometimes: a breath on the back of her neck; a laugh that sighs across the wind until she's not sure if she heard it or imagined it; the sharp edge of a claw trailing lightly over her flesh. She's being stalked by sensation, by goosebumps on her skin. She becomes so accustomed to the feeling of being watched, of being touched and tasted and _scented_ , that she no longer notices.

\--

Summer arrives, and with it, a heat that that adheres to her skin, makes her clothes hang too heavy upon her body. Her hair hangs limp and frazzled against her neck. She wears it up, sweeps it off her nape and into a loose knot. She feels the stares of her friends and ignores the way their eyes flash amber and red.

They're young and have such little control yet. But they'll learn. Just like she will.

\--

She sits and listens as the pack discuss strategies for defeating the demon that has arrived at their doorstep. It's become such an everyday occurrence that it doesn't stir her anymore, doesn't make her bite her lip in fear for herself or her friends. She just sits back, bored, waiting for the information to make her research easier.

There's a breath on the back of her neck, and after so long she no longer feels it, no longer flinches. She's been feeling the ghost of that touch for months.

There's a claw dragging along her skin, up her arm, over her shoulder, a teasing touch accompanied by a murmur of a laugh. She doesn't shrug it off because it's not really there.

There are lips at her ear, murmuring against it, and that's new. She sits up, looks around, and sees him. Sees the man who'd created her nightmares. 

The man who introduced her to her power.

She looks down and notices the faint track of red where his claw brushed against her skin. She touches her neck and feels the damp residue of his breath. She lifts an eyebrow and stares at him; finally catches him staring back at her.

She smiles, and knows how it must look to him, to all of them who might be watching. It's an invitation wrapped in a dare, and she knows the instant he accepts it. His eyes flare blue and his teeth stretch his mouth.

\--

When he comes to her that night, he smells of forest and moves around her room with a familiarity that gives him away. She laughs and pulls him into her bed, riding him to exhaustion as her hair falls around them.

She should be angry at his duplicity, but of all of them, she knows him. She _knows_ him. His voice lived inside her too long for her to deny his presence in her life now. 

She is the harbinger of death, and he is the monster under her bed.

* * *

9.

 **Warnings:** blood, knife, and pain play  
 **Pairing:** Kali/Kate

When Kali suggested knife play, Kate had laughed and said, 'Don't we have enough sharp objects in our bedroom?', gesturing to Kali's claws. Kali had insisted though, and Kate had agreed under the condition that Kali would be secured with wolfsbane ropes. She didn't particularly want her lover's wolf attacking her mid-coitus, and that seemed all too possible with this kink. 

Kate picked out a small pure silver knife from her armory. It had never been used, a custom gift from when she turned seventeen. It was a small thing, delicate and intricate and far too formal for fighting, but it fit into her garter belt perfectly. They found out that night that Kate enjoyed knife play just as much as Kali, if not more, and it quickly became part of their repertoire. Kate liked to tease Kali in public, running the blade along her thigh when she ordered food at their favorite restaurant, or up the back of her shirt as they waited in line to pay for movie tickets. She kept the main event for home though, with the silken purple ropes that aroused Kali by sight now. 

Kate carved into her skin obsessively; almost hoping that this time the marks would last. This time, Kali would wear her scars proudly and no one would doubt the strength of their bond. No one would look at Kate as a mere human, the weaker half. Kali had offered to change her, 'she'd make such a pretty wolf', she cooed, kissing her wrist. Kate wasn't interested, she liked being in control far too much; but she had been tempted by the possibility to temporarily scar her mate. There were three bites she wished would stay: a claim on her neck, a declaration on her wrist, and a promise on her inner thigh. She made those now with the knife, carefully constructed circles with wide rims, but they all healed by morning. Kate's didn't heal for weeks, and she found herself smiling at her bruised wrist throughout the day.

They devised a new game a few weeks into sharper play. Kali's legs would be tied just wide enough for Kate to lay between them and she would; a small double-ended knife, around the length of a pen, would be suspended between Kali's inner thighs. It always pricked her thighs a bit to keep from dropping, but that was preferable to Kate's reaction if the knife fell. And as long as the knife held, Kate would lap at her pussy hungrily. She wouldn't have much finesse- far too focused on each jiggle of Kali's thighs and each new droplet of blood sprouting up- but her tongue still got Kali off. It was an exquisite torture, and Kali still hadn't figured out how to keep her thighs from clenching shut when she orgasms. (She didn't really mind though, not when Kate cleaned her up with her tongue or a long bath afterwards.)

Tonight, Kate would part her skin and lick the open wound. She'd tease Kali about how easily she could kill her, how she was a hunter after all, dragging the knife along her slim throat. (Kali would hear the lie, but the words would still excite her.) She'd wait until the flesh knitted itself back together, and the moment it did, she'd rend it open again, tracing the same exact line. She'd lick up the fresh stripe of blood and kiss Kali with her stained lips. She might even lick the ropes by her wrists, pushing the pain onto her tongue. If she was feeling particularly evil, she'd wrap two fingers in the wolfsbane rope before thrusting them into her pussy, bringing her off screaming in pleasure and pain. Kate liked those screams best, promises of how the tables would be turned the following night.

* * *

10.

 **Warnings:** knotting, dirty talk, rough sex  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

" _Stay_ ," Derek growls, his paws sharp against Stiles' back. With a submissive whimper, Stiles shudders to a stop, lying prone on the forest floor; his fur, a burnt sienna orange, quivers as Derek's teeth slide along his ear. "Good boy."

Stiles lets the change overtake him. His paws and tail melt into naked human skin, and when he tilts his head to the side, it's Derek's stubble that scratches his jaw. "You caught me," Stiles murmurs, grinding his ass up against Derek's already evident erection. "Are you gonna punish me now?"

Derek grunts his approval; his cock is sliding against Stiles' wet hole, loose with preparation and lubrication. "You _want_ this," he snarls, and snaps Stiles' hips up, burying his cock inside.

" _Fuck!_ " Stiles screams as Derek splits him apart, impaling him on his huge cock and driving deep inside. "Fuck, Derek, _fuck_ \--"

"You can take it," Derek orders, feeling Stiles hole constrict, pulling him in. He licks the shell of Stiles' ear, his sharp teeth nicking the lobe. "Take my fucking cock, Stiles."

Stiles' palms paw against the leaves and dirt, scrambling for purchase as he whines and wails with each of Derek's hard, punishing thrusts. "Yes, yes, fuck me," he chants deliriously, "I wanna feel you in the back of my throat, oh fuck, _yes_."

Derek doesn't relent, all of the adrenaline from their chase setting his desire alight. He fucks Stiles faster, harder, rutting him into the ground. Stiles' cock hangs between his legs, dribbling pre-come and swaying obscenely with each thrust. "I'm gonna knot you," Derek pants, biting along Stiles' neck where his sweat has pooled, smelling of lust and sex. "You're gonna feel even tighter around my cock. I'm gonna fucking _ruin_ you, Stiles, and you'll take every drop of my come."

" _Yes_ ," Stiles wails, trying to jerk his hips back for more, "I want you to come in me, I wanna feel it, Derek, I want you to fill me up, oh god--" 

"Gonna make you _scream_ ," Derek moans. He violently fucks into Stiles, once, twice, before he lifts his head with a groan and starts to come. His fingernails leave crescent-moon bruises as his come gushes hot and heavy into Stiles, making him sob with pleasure.

"Derek, oh fuck, _Derek_ , I can feel you, I can feel you filling me up, _fuck_ ," he gasps as Derek holds him in place, his hole tightening around the knot. Derek continues to thrust shallowly, his cock huge and deep inside, growling as Stiles screams with the constant pressure nailing his prostate. "You're gonna make me come, oh fuck, Derek, _Derek_!"

Stiles comes in thick streams of white across the forest floor, Derek's hand rough and tight around him as he continues to grind his knot inside. "So beautiful," Derek murmurs into Stiles' skin, "so tight."

"Oh god," Stiles moans when he's finished riding his high, feeling Derek press kisses along his shoulder. "You're so big inside of me."

"You love it," Derek whispers, and brings his wet hand up to lick clean, before kneeling backwards and pulling Stiles into his lap. "Now you'll smell like me for _days_."

Stiles huffs a laugh and nuzzles back into the crook of Derek's neck, grinding down onto the knot with a pleased sigh. "I don't think any more coyotes will come sniffing around me now."

"Good," Derek grunts, and seals his mouth over Stiles', his grip on his waist secure and possessively tight.

* * *

11.

 **Warnings: incest, pegging, dildo knotting**  
 **Pairing:** Laura/Derek

 

Most of the time, the best thing about New York was that Derek and Laura didn't know of any werewolves there. There was nobody to offer condolences on their loss, nobody who knew the enormity of it. 

On full moons it could also be the _worst_ thing about New York.

"I can't--" Laura grabbed one of the throw pillows scattered around her and growled as her claws went straight through it. "I need to--"

"I _know_ , okay?" Derek more than knew the frustration coursing through Laura. At least she had a boyfriend, one she could see when the wolf wasn't threatening to take over. When the pain, the anger was pushed down enough to give her total control. Derek hadn't trusted anyone enough to let them close to him for a while, and he wasn't planning to again any time soon. He put a hand on her shoulder tentatively. "Let's go for a run, we can-"

"You have _no idea_ ," Laura gritted out, and twisted under his hand. Turned and slammed Derek against the wall, teeth pressed against his neck. He could feel her chest vibrating, as if an alpha roar was ready to break out of her.

Carefully, he tipped his head back, bared his throat. He expected her to release him then, but--

"You don't know how much I want to _fuck_ something," she snarled, and maybe it was the way she was all over his ass, or maybe it was the way she emphasised the 'fuck' with a hard jerk of her hips, but Derek thought maybe she meant exactly what she'd said.

"You-- you do that?" he said, and fuck, he was hard against the wall at the thought of it, but if anyone had started being inappropriate here it was Laura, the way she was grinding her crotch against his ass still, leaking the scent of her own arousal all over him. 

"Oh yeah," she mouthed against his neck. "There's nothing like it. Pinning a big strong guy down and making him beg for it, fucking him open, making him come on my cock--"

She moaned, her hips jerking forward again, and this time Derek was there to meet her, his head rolling back onto her shoulder as they ground together.

"Laura," he groaned, and she gripped his hip, rubbed harder, with longer strokes, her buckle pressing through his jeans against his hole, and her other hand slid around to his belt, his zipper, making short work of them.

"Wait, wait," she rumbled, alpha voice holding him in position while she moved off, rummaged in the desk drawers for something. Cool air brushed over his ass without her hot and close behind him, and Derek felt foolish for a moment, felt exposed. Whatever he'd scented on her, this wasn't what he thought, she wasn't going to--

It was hard, Laura's cock, hard and slick. He wished he'd seen it, maybe had chance to have it in his mouth, but then it wouldn't be working its way into him slowly, surely, filling him exactly as he needed to be filled. It wasn't the same, doing this to himself.

"Gonna, fuck, _Derek_ ," Laura ground out, and Derek could feel the straps of the harness on her bare hips, the bulge of the dildo's base against his ass as she pushed in the last couple of inches. "Gonna fuck you, fill you up, god."

He braced himself against the wall, claws gouging marks in the paper that they'd have to fix eventually. One of Laura's hands clasped his as she thrust hard, hips snapping back and forth, rhythm rough and ragged but perfect all the same.

"You want my knot, Derek?" she growled. "Think you can take it, take my big--"

"Yes, yes, yeah," he gasped out, but he was still surprised when he felt her slow her thrusts, when he heard the soft whoosh whoosh of a pump, when the base of the toy expanded inside him. Something settled inside his head at the sensation, some deep satisfaction that came, at least in part, from submitting to his alpha so fully.

He thought, when he came for the second time, Laura still deep inside him as if they were truly knotted, that he was done, that he wouldn't be getting it up again any time soon.

Then Laura put her mouth to his ear, whispered, "Your turn next," and apparently, he'd been wrong.

* * *

12.

 **Warnings:** Dub-con  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

“Just stay still.” Derek says, almost snarling, teeth elongated into pointy fangs. “I can control it.”

Stiles shudders as Derek rests his face on his chest, clawed hands gripping his sides; he can hear Derek's agitated breathing, can feel him pressing Stiles harder, harder, against the wall. 

“Sure, big guy,” he breathes out, tapping the fingers of his left hand on his own leg nervously, biting at his lip until the sensitive skin there feels sore, and the cold air coming through the open window makes them tingle, wet and abused.

They stay like that for a moment, and finally Stiles shifts a little when he feels one of his legs starting to get numb, and suddenly it's like Stiles turned a switch, because Derek starts _pawing_ at him, big hands clumsily grabbing at his shirt and tearing it with his claws as he presses against Stiles until he can feel the hard outline of his dick even through the rough denim against his hip.

“Okay, buddy,” he stutters out, hands coming up and hovering over Derek as he takes in lungfuls of air against Stiles' neck, nose buried against his skin, snuffling noisily, “you wanna get some eau de Stiles, big guy? Knock yourself out. Just go easy on the goods.”

“ _Shut up_ , Stiles.” Derek grunts, voice muffled against Stiles' skin, lips tickling him.

“Going back to basics, huh?”

“I swear,” Derek's hands climb up his shirt, claws trailing upwards, giving Stiles' goosebumps, making all the blood that hadn't been pooling there already go straight to his hardening dick, “I swear I am gonna kill you.”

Stiles, who is way past the point of being afraid _of_ Derek, smirks. His heart is beating wildly inside his chest anyway, ribcage barely containing the thump thump _thumps_ ; he isn't afraid of Derek, but he _is_ afraid _for_ him; afraid of where this could be leading, and what it would mean for him. 

Derek whines, ruts at him like he's feverish, in heat, like the stuttering of his hips is something he can't control. 

Which is likely.

Stiles' hands land on Derek's shoulders, and he _feels it_ against the skin of his throat when Derek lets out a wet and open mouthed sob.

“I can't,” he whispers, and Stiles' heart breaks at the vulnerability in those words.

“That's--” he pats Derek's shoulder awkwardly, and Derek's body seems to thrive in the touch, to seek it once it's gone, and everything is so fucked up, witches are fucked up, their lives are fucked up. “That's okay, big guy, we'll get through this one together. Just like treading water for two hours and crawling through shards of glass, huh? It's what we do.”

Derek's clawed fingers trail upwards, letting the skin of Stiles' stomach exposed to the cold air, making him shiver, and Derek moves even closer, hips rubbing against him at an offbeat pace, and Stiles bites at his bottom lip, inhaling loudly when Derek's claws reach his nipples and fixate on them, trace delicate, sharp circles around them.

“I'm sorry,” Derek mutters, and then he laps at Stiles' throat with the flat of his tongue, drags it up and up until Stiles is scrabbling at his shoulders and tilting his own hips because _God_ , Derek is _tasting_ him, going at it like he's deriving the meaning of life from it, like it's something other than compulsion and Stiles hasn't gotten laid in forever, and he's touched himself harshly countless times, imagining Derek giving in to some primal urge.

And this is so _fucked up_.

“Me too, for all that matters,” he chokes out, yanking at Derek's hair (and Derek _growls_ , a deep rumbling animal sound that will haunt Stiles' fantasies forever), “but right now? Right now we have to get to the bed, because there's no way you're fucking me for the first time propped against a wall, as hot as that sounds.”

Derek moans and shakes Stiles' hand off ( _like a dog_ , he thinks), but looks at him with incandescent blue eyes, grabbing at his hand and tugging him in the direction of the bed, turning him around to give him a biting, bruising kiss as he backs him up until he stumbles down onto the softness of his duvet.

“I'm going to _knot you_ ,” Derek grunts out once they are down and he's straddling him, eyes glowing and fixed on him, and Stiles groans.

“Okay, yes, let's do that,” he agrees breathlessly and nods as Derek dives back in.

* * *

13.

 **Warnings:** Are knotting and a strap-on warnings for this challenge?  
 **Pairing:** Girl!Greenberg/Finstock  


“What the fuck is that?” Finstock yells as he see’s what Greenberg is unwrapping from a nondescript brown cardboard box. 

“Stilinski recommended it. Said it was almost as good as the real thing and he would know.” Greenberg pulls a long yellow dildo out of the box with a knot at the end of it. 

“I’d like to think I'm a man of the world but that can’t be natural?” Finstock goggles at the dildo in Greenberg’s hand. 

“It’s called The Wolfman. I was thinking maybe we could use it this weekend babe?” Greenberg says with a hopeful smile. 

Finstock looks at it for a couple of beats sighs and says, “You still have that harness we used to use?”

* * *

“Put your back into Greenberg” Finstock moans as Greenberg wiggles the dildo gently back and forth with the harness. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Greenberg says as she continues to move the dildo in tiny strokes. 

Finstock groans and says,” You aren't going to hurt me. Now move or so help me.”

“Anything you say, Cupcake,” Greenberg grins and starts to piston her hips back and forth. Not quite pushing the dildo in all the way. Just teasing the knot against his rim. 

“Holy fuck! That’s more like it.” Finstock grabs the headboard on the bed as Greenberg pumps into him from behind. The whole bed moving with her thrust as she fucks into him. 

The only thing that can be be heard for a few minutes are the sounds of the leather harness slapping against skin and breathy moans coming from the bed.

“I’m going to try to get the knot in,” Greenberg pants between thrust. 

“Do it,” Finstock grits out as he moves the hand not gripping the headboard to his own cock. 

Greenberg slows down, eventually just giving minute thrusts and slowly pushes the knot in a little bit. 

“I said do it. By god, do I have to come back there and make you!” Finstock yells, , “Push it in me!”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Greenberg mutters. She gives one final sharp thrust lodging the knot tight within his ass as she collapses across his back. 

“Holy fuck, that’s the stuff.” Finstock goes stiff and comes spectacularly across the bed. 

“Did you just come that quickly?” Greenberg grins as she kisses his shoulder.

“Shut it, Greenberg,” Finstock mutters into the pillow.

“Can’t, still haven’t come yet,” she playfully rolls her hips within the harness, not quite dislodging the knot but moving it enough to make Finstock feebly push back against her and the end of the dildo to rub against her clit at just the right angle. 

“Feels good,” she wiggles the dildo as Finstock pushes back against her rubbing the end of it against her clit sending jolts of pleasure through her, “push harder!’

“Bossy, I like ‘em like that,” Finstock pushes back against her wiggling a little back and forth as he pushes. 

“Ah. So good, just a little more,” she rubs against the dildo sending sparks of pleasure through both of them. 

“Just a little more,” she mutters as she continues to wiggle against the dildo. 

“Oh for the love of god,” Finstock reaches around and pushes his hand inside the harness. Quickly finding her wet, clit and bringing her off. 

“Thanks, babe,” Greenberg says as she gingerly pulls out the dildo. “You’re the best”

“You always say that.” Finstock stretches across the bed and crawls under the covers as Greenberg puts the harness in the bathroom to deal with later. She crawls into bed beside him kissing him softly as she settles down. 

“What do you think about fisting?” Greenberg ask as she fluffs her pillow and gets comfortable.

Finstock turns over his pillow and stares hard at her for a second, “We’ll talk.” 

* * *

14.

 **Warnings:** Knotting, minor scenting.  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Peter Hale

Chris entered the empty apartment and paused, taking in the darkness. The emptiness. He no longer enjoyed coming home. There was no longer a reason for it, except for the reminder of his life before, when Allison had still been alive. The happy memories were painful now, but... he couldn't give them up. Not yet. 

He went to close the door, feeling battered and old. But the door did not close. In a sudden flurry of movement the door slammed into the wall mere seconds before Chris himself was slammed up against it, followed by the sound of the door then slamming shut. Closely followed by lips suddenly on his, and hands keeping his hips pinned to the wall.

Chris tried to push the werewolf off him, but failed as instead his hands fisted the shirt Peter wore. A blue shirt... one that went well with the glowing blue eyes of the man trying to devour him through their kiss.

There was no fighting it, Chris had no willpower left to try and deny the attraction between him and the wolf. It had been there laying dormant since they were teens, and now the hardships of their lives has brought on this rough, hard, passionate embrace. It soothed the raw pain Chris still felt in his heart and soul from losing his sister, wife and daughter.

Clothes were torn off and left to fall where they may, neither man caring. “Shower...” Chris said, knowing he was sweaty as hell, but Peter didn't back off.

“No... I need your scent...” Chris was half disgusted and half aroused by Peter leaving off their kissing to press his nose to Chris' neck to inhale deeply. He knew it was a wolf thing, but Chris couldn't wrap his mind around it as a human. However, standing naked with Peter, Chris couldn't bring himself to complain.

“Ridiculous wolf,” he muttered before turning the tables and pinning Peter back against the wall. It had been so long... not since they were teens, and Peter... he was different now. His body was the body of a man, and not a teenage boy. 

He kissed Peter hard, purposefully fighting the other man for dominance in the kiss, needing to get Peter worked up. Needing to get him to the point where he could make Chris numb with pleasure. He needed that desperately. Needed to have his mind wiped clean of everything else. Just this. Just Peter.

It worked, and soon they tumbled onto Chris' bed, Peter manhandling him onto his knees, his shoulders pressed down hard to the mattress, presenting his ass to him. It was wrong... But he couldn't stop. He needed this, needed to feel anything but his grief and loneliness.

It seemed like it took forever, getting him prepared. Felt like Peter was taking his damn time in doing it, purposefully torturing Chris with his tongue and fingers. It likely didn't take long at all, but to Chris it felt like ages before Peter finally pressed inside of him. Filling him up.

Then Chris was pulled up, back arching so Peter could stay buried inside of him, hips trying to move back on Peter while in that position and not having much leverage. 

“You don't know how long I've wanted this, wanted you. Even while half insane... I wanted this, damn near went into your house so many time to take you away and have you. Nothing is going to stop me now.”

“No, nothing,” was Chris' response, mindless in his pleasure as he was.

“You'll take it all. My knot, my come. Tonight I make you mine.” Peter's words made Chris shudder, and he knew in the morning he'd regret this, but right now... it was everything he wanted.

“Yes...”

Peter fucked him hard after that, thrusting into him over and over while Chris fisted his own cock. It didn't take either man long at all before climaxing, Chris calling out first, face buried in his pillow, Peter second, the base of his cock swelling and stretching Chris painfully before filling him after becoming locked in place. Chris would hate himself in the morning, but right now? In the blissed out state of post orgasm, feeling numb from the pleasure mixed with pain, with Peter's body and heat and buried so deeply inside of him... It was everything he had needed. For now, everything was alright.

* * *

15.

 **Warnings:** Vaginal Fisting, Knotting  
 **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Lydia Martin

The way Peter's fingers slipped inside of Lydia forced her to spread her legs wider, groaning as one fingertip edged against her cervix, massaging it as the heel of his hand bore down against her clit. "If I need to be this wet, I think a little lube should have been in the cards instead of exhausting me with orgasms."

He raised his eyebrows at her while smirking, his chest tensing as he pushed more of his hand into her, the knuckle of his thumb tight against her entrance as his fingers flexed inside of her. "Maybe I like watching you come apart."

"I'd rather come apart because you're doing like I asked." Her words came out as moans, though, her back arching to force her hips down against Peter's wrist. Her face was pink with exertion as she rode against his hand, her right hand sliding up her pale torso to pluck and twist her nipples while her left hand slid through the dampness of her curls in order to tease at her clit. "Okay, you asshole. I'm close."

Adjusting his own position on the bed, Peter sneered at her. "As her highness commands." He yanked his hand out from within her, grinning beatifically at the low groan it dragged from her throat as she twitched with her orgasm. Using the excess moisture on his hand, he stroked his cock to full hardness and pressed Lydia's knees upward in order to tease the head of his cock against her swollen entrance. "You do still want this, right, Lydia?"

Her hair sticking to the sweat at her temples, Lydia huffed out a breath of laughter. "Really, Peter? _Now_ is when you're concerned about consent I already gave you?"

"I'm being polite," he muttered, lining himself up and slamming into her, hissing at the feel of the heat and moisture coupled with the relative lack of friction. "I feel like I'm getting my own sloppy seconds here. It's nice."

"Don't wear your mouth out now. I've got plans for it." Lydia let her hands slide up Peter's chest, clutching onto his shoulders tightly as she ground her hips back against his thrusts. "Now, let me feel you like I asked."

Peter pursed her lips as he watched her, strawberry blonde hair splayed around her and pale skin luminous against the wine red sheets. Focusing on that, as well as the heady scent of her sex that he was nearly drowning in, made it all too easy to edge closer and closer to the right feeling. She didn't even seem to notice that his knot had begun to form, so stretched out from his earlier ministrations. It wasn't until he was nearly at his maximum size that her fingernails dug into his flesh and she began to let out heady gasps as his knot began to push into her then drag back out. 

He wasn't used to this either, his body wanting to stop now in order to knot her and fill her with his come. Grunting, Peter pushed himself to continue to fuck Lydia, even as his body finally began to surrender his seed, fucking it into her and dragging it out with each push of his hips. "You're a mess, you know," he said as he shuddered at the feeling of her sliding along his knot.

"A sleepy mess," she muttered, one hand sliding away from Peter's shoulder to catch her fingers along the curve of his jaw. "Now, clean me up."

Crawling backward down the bed, Peter carefully crouched down so that his sensitive cock wouldn't brush against the sheets too much before burying his face between her thighs, inhaling sharply through his nose to breathe while his mouth made quick work of tasting every inch of her. The way their tastes melded together pleased him more than he was likely ever to admit. 

He worked his fingers deep within her in order to pull out every drop of his come that he could manage, licking her clean until she glistened more with his saliva than anything else, then gave one last gentle kiss to her oversensitive clit before pulling away. "I can't believe you let your Ambien prescription run out and asked me of all people to help you sleep."

Turning onto her side away from the lingering mess on the bed, Lydia smirked. "And here I thought werewolves could hear lies."

* * *

16.

 **Warnings:** established relationship, consensual sex by magic potion, knotting, male lactation, mpreg  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"Last chance to change your mind," Stiles says, picking up his glass of magical baby-making potion and searching Derek's face over the rim.

Derek quirks an eyebrow. "Bottoms up," he replies, lifting his own glass, and Stiles grins.

*

They don't even make it out of the kitchen the first time, both of them overcome with the need to just _fuck_. Derek knots him on the cold linoleum floor, one of Stiles' legs thrown over Derek's shoulder and the other braced on the partition leading to the living room.

*

They've been together for ten years now. Beacon Hills isn't the same as it was when Stiles and Scott and the rest of them were in high school, and none of them would call it the hellmouth it once was. It will never be the safest place in the world, but it's far more stable than it used to be.

They have a right to live their lives the way they want to, to be happy. They've earned it.

*

Stiles moans, throwing his head back as he grinds down onto Derek's lap, his ass full of swollen werewolf knot. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Derek whines, claws digging into the arms of the recliner they're in. There's come from the first three times slipping down between their thighs, and yeah, they're going to have to get the chair reupholstered.

Or maybe just buy a new one.

*

Stiles and Derek aren't the first couple in the pack to want children. 

Scott and Kira have two already, a boy and a girl. Their daughter is the oldest, and is a Kitsune like her mother and grandmother. Their one year old son, however, is a werewolf just like his dad.

*

Derek mouths at the back of Stiles' neck, sharp teeth scraping against his skin and claws gently pressing into his hips. Stiles' ass is sore, and so fucking loose and wet that Derek's half-filled knot can slip in and out with ease. Come drips from his abused hole, squelching filthily and drying tacky on the backs of his thighs. Stiles has never seen so much come in his life.

"Gonna fill you so full," Derek murmurs, making Stiles shiver. One hand slides down and presses against Stiles' flat stomach, holding him in place as Derek hitches his hips, pushing his knot fully inside. "Gonna put a baby in you. My baby. _Our_ baby. I'm gonna breed you until it takes, knot you over and over until there's no doubt left."

Stiles whimpers and comes untouched, Derek growling in his ear as his knot fills the rest of the way, locking them together.

*

When they'd first started talking about using magic to have a baby, Stiles hadn't been sure he wanted to contribute. He had only agreed after Deaton had assured him that any child born of the two of them would be a werewolf, and therefore immune to any genetic diseases.

It had taken him two more months to wrap his head around the idea of being the one to carry their child.

*

Stiles' chest gets swollen and sore, and his nipples start to leak. Derek sucks them dry while fucking hard into Stiles' gaping hole, his knot swelling so fast and so big it makes Stiles cry out. His half-hard dick pulses painfully as he comes dry, and he throws his head back with a desperate sob.

Derek continues to grind against him, making broken, near-feral noises that vibrate through his chest and against Stiles' sensitive skin.

*

Stiles isn't entirely sure what day it is when he finally wakes up without the overwhelming urge to have Derek's knot buried tightly in his ass. He blinks at the ceiling for a few minutes before turning his head to look at his husband. Derek is still asleep, lips parted and breath puffing softly against Stiles' shoulder.

They're both _covered_ in come. Stiles feels completely disgusting, but he's also exhausted beyond belief and he can't quite bring himself to wake Derek up when he's so peaceful.

Stiles flings an arm over Derek's waist and goes back to sleep.

*

Nine months later, Stiles gives birth to a healthy baby girl, with lots of tears and assurances all around that she is definitely a werewolf.

They name her Zoe.

* * *

17.

Isaac/Erica

warnings: violence and elements of dub-con

Yet another frustrating training session left Isaac on edge and pacing the old train wagon. He's a failure. A disgrace. His dad was so fucking right.

When Erica blocks his way—“You should be used to Derek wiping the floor with you by now. When will you learn to take it easy?”—the sudden urge to fight her—hurt her—rushes through him. It's not her, not what she says, that triggers it; it's the ache for success, vibrant and fiery.

It's stupid, but Isaac can't stop his claws from pricking his fingertips and his eyes from flashing amber. Erica laughs—although she should know better—and it's what makes him lunge at her, hurling her backwards into a handrail. 

Erica's on him in the next moment. She's fast and her claws tear at the skin of his face before Isaac manages to shove her to the floor. She raises an eyebrow when he touches his cheek; there's a hint of blood.

Cracking his neck, Isaac dares her to attack again. She goes for his chest this time, quick blows that he blocks easily. It's fucking boring. Grabbing hold of Erica's wrist, he spins her around and twists her arm to her back, spanning her throat with his other hand. This is exciting.

She smells of the sweat and dust that comes with training. Beneath it lingers something like honey and almond, something that makes Isaac's head swim. He noses the side of her neck, can't bite back a soft, wanting sound. His mind instantly provides about a dozen dirty ideas; touching her breasts is the most harmless of them, but it's as good a start as anything.

“You could've asked right away, you know?” she coos.

He laughs, nips at her pulse, playful, careful, and she surrenders just for a moment—just until he releases her wrist.

Erica pushes back against Isaac with her full weight. She may be petite, but having the surprise effect and the momentum on her side, she plows him over like she's a goddamned bulldozer.

Isaac crashes down hard. The impact presses the air out of his lungs and blurs his sight. Behind his head, Erica leans over him. Her grin reminds him of the fucking Cheshire cat, and he longs to wipe it out.

Groaning, Isaac reaches up and grabs her by the hips. One sharp pull, and she is sprawled across him, thisclose to headbutting him in the crotch. 

Erica’s jeans, along with the hint of nothing that's her thong, fall prey to one smooth tear of claws; her growl morphs into a sigh when Isaac flicks his tongue over her pussy. Her taste is even better than her scent: stronger and purer. It wakes an instinct he's never known, one that's too powerful to be entirely human.

While she writhes, Isaac flips her over (maybe a little too hard, but that's payback) and pins her down on the floor. He needs—and she seems to need, too, because even though she tells him to fuck off, she fists his hair and pulls him back into her lap.

Isaac loves how she falls apart a little more with every lick and suck and flick of his tongue. It's beautiful, perfect—she is beautiful and perfect. He can't stop, not when her breath hitches, not when she begs; he wants her to come for him, because of him.

When she does, moaning his name and piercing his thighs with her claws so deeply that he thinks the wounds may never heal, it's the best fucking moment ever in Isaac's entire life—although he's got more in mind that promises to be equally thrilling.

Like throwing her over a seat and fucking her from behind with smooth, hard thrusts. Maybe fucking her against the wall, too. Definitely fucking her mouth because those red lips are made to stretch around a cock. If she lets him, he'll come down her throat or on her face; either is fine. He wants to worship her, wants to knot her, claim her, be claimed in return. And then again. And some more.

But for now—for now, he's satisfied.

* * *

18.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore

“I hate being a werewolf,” Jackson groans.

Danny pinches Jackson’s side, “That’s not what I usually hear. Stop whining and hold still.”

“I’m not- fuck,” Jackson gasps when he feels something warm and wet press into him.

Danny hums as he presses his tongue further. The heel of his palm pushes against the small of Jackson’s back to keep him from squirming too much.

Jackson’s fingers curl tight into the sheets while Danny fucks him with his tongue. He can’t help the small noises that escape. He tries pushing back against Danny, but Danny’s palm keeps him in place.

“Danny,” he gasps.

Danny pulls his tongue out and moves over Jackson to press a kiss against his shoulder. He smirks at Jackson’s whine of protest. Jackson might hate this whole heat thing, but Danny enjoys watching him come undone so easily. It makes up for the burning that he still feels from Jackson dragging his claws along his back earlier.

“What do you want?” Danny asks, voice low and tone easy. He can tease Jackson for hours.

“Danny,” Jackson grinds out.

Danny’s certain Jackson is trying for irritated, but he only hears desperation. “Danny... what?”

“Just-” Jackson pushes his ass up, trying to make contact with Danny. He knows Danny’s hovering just over him.

“Just... do this?” Danny asks sweetly as he pushes two fingers into Jackson. He crooks them at the second knuckle and pulls up, forcing Jackson to move onto his knees to lessen the tension.

Danny twists his fingers and pushes them deeper. Jackson tries to smother the string of ‘fuck’s that fall from his lips with his pillow

“You like that?” Danny asks, pulling his fingers out and thrusting them in again.

“Fuck!” Jackson nearly yells as he jumps at the movement. He mumbles something into the pillow that Danny can’t quite make out.

“What was that?” Danny asks, but Jackson shakes his head, refusing to answer. Danny pulls his fingers out and waits. “You don’t like it?”

“Fuck you,” Jackson growls. He’s clawing at the mattress now. When he turns his head enough to shoot Danny a glare, his eyes are glowing.

Danny thrusts a third finger in this time and hums when Jackson cries out. He has every intention of teasing Jackson’s opening raw until he begs for what they both know he wants. Needs. Jackson needs this right now. The heat practically strips Jackson’s self-control, but there’s enough of the stubbornness left behind for Danny to have fun with.

“Get on with it, Mahealani,” Jackson demands and pushes back against the fingers.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Just- dammit,” Jackson moves again, trying to fuck himself on Danny’s fingers. The mattress has a small wet spot from the precum dripping from his cock.

“Mm... I think I like that idea too,” Danny says. He’s already undone the front of his jeans, but he hasn’t stripped any of the rest of his clothing off. He likes having Jackson naked, under him, while he still has his own clothes on.

Danny pulls his fingers out, reaches for the condom, and slides it on easily. He grabs Jackson’s hips and jerks him backwards. He pushes in with one smooth thrust and no warning.

Jackson cries out at the sensation of being stretched. He tries pushing his claws further into the mattress to serve as a distraction. He’s already shredded the sheets.

Danny doesn’t give him a chance to adjust. He moves to hook his arms under Jackson’s, hauling him back until Jackson’s back is pressed against his chest. He takes advantage of the closeness by sucking and nipping at Jackson’s neck.

“Fuck, Danny... Jesus,” Jackson breathes. He tries to get one arm free. He’s so close already.

Danny unhooks his arm so he can reach down and wrap his fingers around Jackson and jerk him off. He’s completely out of sync with his thrusts, but it sends Jackson over the edge with Danny’s name on his lips like it’s a curse.

Danny thrusts a couple more times before he’s coming with a low groan. He pulls out and collapses half on top of the blonde.

They’re both quiet for a long moment as they catch their breath. 

Jackson shoves Danny off of him and rolls over.

Danny turns his head to look at him and groans when he sees Jackson’s half-hard already, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Jackson smirks while Danny mutters something about werewolves and heats being impossible to manage.

* * *

19.

 **Warnings:** rough sex, biting/scratching, brief mention of blood, possessive sex  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

1/2

The courtyard bustles with activity as the Hales' guests begin to arrive. Derek hears a peal of tinkling laughter just as Stiles grasps his shoulder and shoves his cock back inside Derek's filthy stretched-out hole for the third time that day.

It's the weekend of the matchmaking ball—Derek's fourth, he's been reminded of more than once. But he can't think about the disappointment on his mother's face after last year's fiasco, or the way she'd prattled on at breakfast about the importance of Hale heirs finding their partners soon after coming of age.

No, Derek can barely think at all when Stiles is fucking him in earnest, his hands gripping Derek's hips so tightly they'd leave dark bruises on any human. His back bows on a particularly hard thrust and Derek concentrates on the sting of it, the crude slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of Stiles working an afternoon's worth of come deeper inside him.

Stiles reaches around and takes Derek's nipple between his fingers. He pinches hard, tugs on it and doesn't let go. Derek's eyes flash in ecstasy and a low growl builds in his throat when Stiles squeezes harder still, breaking the skin and painting Derek's chest with droplets of his own blood.

"Do you hear them down there, Derek? The eager werewolves and upper crust supernatural beings who can't wait to get their chance with you tonight?" Stiles is breathless but doesn't slow his movements for a second. "I hear Lydia Martin will be attending. Your uncle seems particularly interested in bringing a banshee into the fold."

He leans closer, sinks his teeth into Derek's ear and whispers, "What do you think they'd say if they knew you were on your knees, spread open for a common servant, filled with the come of a weak little human like me?"

Stiles drags blunt, raggedy fingernails down his back, scoring his skin; Derek is desperate to see the marks. He doesn't want to heal, or for Stiles to see the red lines vanish from Derek's skin almost as soon as they appear.

"I don't care what they think," Derek gasps. He drops down to rest his cheek and shoulder on the mattress, then reaches back to spread himself open even further. "Only want you."

With a strangled moan, Stiles traces a finger around Derek's asshole, now fully on display, stuffed full of Stiles' cock, and most assuredly swollen and obscene. "Going to fill you up again, Derek. Make you so full, stinking of my come, no one will dare come near you tonight."

"Fuck yes, Stiles. Do it." Derek reaches for his cock, gives it a few firm tugs and blurts a pathetic shot of come onto the filthy sheets. He's empty, spent, useless to the night's amorous guests, just the way Stiles wants him.

Usually more discreet, Stiles doesn't tamp down his frantic thrusts or the choked off yell as he empties himself into Derek once more. He collapses against Derek's sweat-slicked back to catch his breath. 

When Stiles pulls out, a glob of come slides down the inside of Derek's thigh. Stiles swipes at it with his fingers, then lifts his hand to Derek's mouth. "I should plug you up, keep you wet and full of me all night."

Derek whimpers around Stiles' fingers and sucks them clean. He loves how possessive Stiles gets in these stolen moments. He drags Stiles on top of him, rubbing Stiles' wet cock against the coarse hair on his belly, crashing their mouths together in a violent kiss.

He can't stand the thought of Stiles bathing him, washing their combined scents away before preparing him for the party. Or watching Stiles attend to him while guests are paraded in front of Derek in their finery.

If only they knew he'd be useless to them, that he desires only to give everything to this man and no other.

"Not tonight," Derek says, an idea sparking in the back of his mind. "No washing tonight, either. Just help me dress, then put on your best clothes."

Stiles looks startled at first, then unbelievably pleased. They prepare quickly. Stiles smoothes velvet across Derek's broad shoulders and a smile crosses Derek's face when he feels Stiles' come begin to leak from his body. The scent is overwhelming.

"Are you sure about this?" Stiles asks, suddenly uncertain.

In a show of bravery befitting a Hale, Derek simply takes Stiles' hand and leads him down the grand staircase to the party below.

* * *

20.

 **Warnings:** heat sex, rough sex,  
 **Pairing:** Danny/Ethan

Danny’s back hit the bed and Ethan straddled him, growling and ripping the human’s shirt off Danny gasping as he felt Ethan’s sharp claws accidently scratch him. Ethan leaned in for another bruising kiss, pushing Danny’s legs further apart and lying between them, grinding their cocks together. Danny moaned, digging his fingers into his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

He opened his eyes and looked up at Ethan’s glowing blue ones, his sharp teeth showing as he quietly growled. Danny cupped Ethan’s face and brought him in for another kiss, tasting blood as Ethan’s teeth nicked part of his lip. Danny licked it away before kiss him again and again, running one hand down to grope Ethan’s butt. 

“I got myself ready for you,” Danny whispered, his heart racing faster as he heard the answering growl from Ethan. “Fucked my fingers thinking about your nice, thick cock inside of me,” Danny said, pressing kisses down Ethan’s neck. Ethan shuddered above him, before pulling back and pulling off the rest of Danny’s clothes, more of them tearing but Danny didn’t care. 

Ethan sat back on his knees once his clothes were off and pulled Danny into his lap, the human wrapping his arms around Ethan and kissing him as the wolf’s cock slid inside of him. He could feel the sting of claws digging into his hips, just enough to break skin. 

Danny looked down at Ethan, the wolf whimpering and growling as he thrust into Danny, pressing his forehead against Danny’s shoulder. Danny lifted Ethan’s chin and kisses him roughly, tasting more blood. He never thought having a sex with a werewolf in heat could be as hot as it was. 

Ethan broke their kiss to press kisses to Danny’s neck, his fangs grazing across Danny’s skin, Danny’s heart almost stopped as Ethan applied a little more pressure with his teeth, he dug his fingers into the wolf’s skin waiting, feeling just a little bit of fear before Ethan was pulling away and pressing another kiss to his neck. 

Danny pushed at Ethan’s chest, making him fall back against the bed. Ethan growled slightly, his eyes glowing impossibly brighter as Danny pressed his hands against Ethan’s chest and started to ride him, slowly at first to drive the wolf crazy before he was going faster and faster. 

He threw his head back and moaned loudly as he rode his boyfriend, the wolf’s clawed hands back on his hips helping his movements. Ethan was groaning, moving his hips up every time Danny came back down on his cock. 

The wolf was close, he had been on edge all day, the heat slowly consuming him. Danny leaned down for another kiss, whimpering as Ethan held his hips still and fucked him hard. “E-Ethan!” He groaned, fingers digging into the wolf’s chest. “F-fuck!”

Ethan flipped them over, not giving Danny any time to adjust before he was pounding into him. Danny clutched the sheets, keeping his eyes open to watch his boyfriend. He was so feral in that moment; Danny found it hot and terrifying at the same time. 

One of Ethan’s hands slid up and wrapped around Danny’s cock, stroking him being careful of his claws. The sight alone was undoing Danny and his moans escaladed until his was spilling, yelling out Ethan’s name. Ethan milked him through before he was gripping Danny’s hips again. Danny wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down, kissing him. The sensation of Ethan inside of him was too much, but he didn’t want him to stop either. “Come on Ethan, come for me,” Danny whispered between kisses. 

Ethan gasped suddenly his body going still before he was kissing Danny roughly as he shuddered and came inside of him. Danny moaned into the kiss, holding the wolf tightly as they came down from their high. 

The heat was cooled for now, but Ethan would be burning up again very soon, his body wanting to mate over and over again. For the moment, he pulled out of Danny and curled around him, the wolf inside of him calming at the touch of his mate.

* * *

21.

 **Warnings:** xeno, marking via urination, possibly perceived consent issues (though I assure you all consent is enthusiastic, even if it's not stated)  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Derek

The hair on the back of Chris's neck prickles with awareness. He cocks his gun, chambering a round, and wishes he'd thought to slip on some shoes or a shirt before running outside in the middle of the night. A crisp, spring breeze, coupled with the knowledge that he's being watched, makes him shiver. There's a whisper of sound behind him, paws trampling the moist ground, and he spins, aiming his gun at nothing in the darkness.

It's a second too late when he realizes turning was a mistake, and the paws he heard moments before are pinning his shoulders to the ground. Sharp canines prickle at the back of his neck, a long, hot tongue licking at the sweat accumulated there. Harsh breaths pant in his ear, and he should be worried, he should be very worried—his gun is trapped uselessly under his chest, and the jaw clamped around his neck is strong enough to break it—but the fact that he's not dead already means there's mercy there.

He feels the scratching of claws around his thighs and ass and hears the fabric give way with very little resistance. The sudden splash of warmth on his back is accompanied by the scent of piss, and it's so bizarrely comforting, Chris almost chuckles. There's only one who marks him like this. The moon is high overhead and he hasn't seen Derek in weeks, expected him back days ago and grew worried when he hadn't returned. But the pull of the mate bond is strongest on full moons, so he should have expected this.

Chris groans, overwhelmed, when he feels the tip of Derek's wolf cock breach him before he's finished marking. His insides are on fire—the exquisite stretch from Derek's dick along with the increasing fullness from his piss—he can't help but cry out and dig his nails into the damp earth.

It's not long before the cock inside of him is buried deep and begins to harden. The wolf's coarse hair scratches the skin of his ass and his back, but he's so warm, so full; he cants his hips higher, lifting his ass and presenting himself to his wolf. 

Razor sharp incisors nip at the back of his neck as the wolf thrusts inside him. His movements are shallow, uneven, but Chris has never been so full, so turned on, so fucking close to coming so quickly as he is in this moment. That is, until he feels the base of Derek's dick begin to expand. Acting on reflex, he spreads his knees and pushes his ass higher in the air. The wolf won't hesitate to take what it wants from its mate, but Chris wants it too, always wants Derek's knot, his come, this rough-edged side of himself that Derek keeps hidden away.

And it's strange how this very lupine, animal thing about Derek always brings him back to Chris, but it does. As he feels Derek's knot lock inside his ass, he can feel the fur against his back begin to recede, and the paws dug into the ground beside his face lengthen into Derek's long-fingered hands. 

He's still grinding his hips into Chris's ass, the whole of Derek's cock growing as he shifts from alpha to beta form while still buried deep inside him. 

"Fuck, Chris," he growls into Chris's neck. "So good for me, take it so good."

Chris can only respond by reaching a hand behind him and threading his fingers through Derek's hair, pulling him closer. He wants Derek's teeth in his neck again, wants sharp incisors marking his neck and throat, wants his wolf.

He clenches his ass around Derek's knot, so desperate to come, so close, his stomach in tangles as he pushes Derek to the edge.

And finally Derek presses in harder, hard enough to smash Chris's belly to the ground, his cock into the soft earth, and the pressure and friction throw Chris over the edge. He comes with a shout, hand fisted in Derek's hair, ass clenching around Derek's cock.

Derek shivers as he comes, sending tremors through Chris's body.

"Want to breed you," he rumbles. "Keep you here til you're full of my come." 

A clawed hand reaches between Chris's stomach and the ground, presses itself against Chris's pelvis.

"Full of my pups," he whispers.

Chris is near bursting with Derek's dick, his knot, come, piss—he's never been fuller. But he thinks he'd carry Derek's pups if he could.

* * *

22.

 **Warnings:** Underage (16/24), Dub-Con (Heat/Rut)  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

The plan had been so fucking simple. Scott challenges the rogue alpha, the team sets it up all pretty, Stiles sets his ass on fire, and everyone got to go home

Simple.

Except the school hadn’t been empty and thanks to misguided heroics of the basketball jock with a heart of gold the rogue got away and the kid got a an origin story. This wasn’t Stiles’ first wolf watch but the situation’s gotten so far out of hand, so far out of his depth, that he might as well still be tied to a chair in the Argents basement.

“Listen kid, you need to calm down,” he tried soothing and was hauled up against the wall for the effort, shower tile cold against his back where the fabric of his shirt rucked up in protest. The Omega, Derek, looked like he belonged to a boy band on a magazine spread somewhere with his basketball uniform and too perfect hair. Not here in this small town locker room hell bent on putting his teeth in someone. In _Stiles_.

He tried to raise a forearm to keep some space between them but it was useless against the wolf’s so very earnest attempts to scent him. Derek’s frustrated growl was a hot-wet vibration against the tender skin just under Stiles’ ear, powerful enough that his whole body arched in titillated response. He’d been attempting to shove Derek away and somehow ended up flexing his hips forward in an unconscious attempt to get closer instead. His cock managed one mind meltingly hot deliberate stroke before Stiles could catch himself. Shock at the force of his response made Stiles clumsy and the hidden taser he tried to reach for clattered to tile, seemingly unnoticed. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, the prick of claws on his thighs oddly gentle as they grasped and lifted him, pinned him more solidly in place so that Derek’s body was one long uninterrupted line of heat against his. The Omega’s hair was soft against his cheek, breath hot against his throat, and Stiles’ heartbeat raced traitorously in delighted response. Judging from the greedy little “ _Mmm_ ,” sound the wolf made he heard it too.

“Yes, please,” Derek murmured happily. Then gave him the slyest, toothiest grin Stiles has ever seen outside of a Saturday morning cartoon. It’s wasn’t charming. 

It wasn’t.

“No!” Stiles hissed back a little desperately, his struggles nothing more than enticing wiggles at this point and already half-hard inside the tailored lines of his slacks. 

Derek’s eyes burned gold and he whined as if denied his favorite toy, body trembling with the excitement of the chase. Stiles bit back a shocked groan as he began to ground the hard line of his cock in needy little circles between his thighs. With a jolt he realized that the slightest hint of a rhythm and he could probably get the Omega off right here, right now, get him all soft and cum-slick in his jersey shorts. Just the thought of it made his whole body flush with heat. 

Derek’s nostrils flared and the predatory light in his eyes immediately faded into glassy eyed anticipation, breath harsh and mouth slightly open in invitation. One Stiles crumbling self control shamefully gave in to. He was light headed and suddenly maddened by the fierce urge to see this boy come. To _make_ him come.

“I want it,” Derek snarled in a monsters voice, but with all the petulant longing of a young man.

Stiles had instinctively froze for about half a second before he acted, moved with damn near preternatural speed to slide his hand in for a fistful of that perfect hair and pull. His body already rolling firmly against Derek’s in a steady and devastatingly effective rhythm. Legs locked tight around him and face so close they could kiss. He wanted to see and was not disappointed.

Dereks’ claws had already started to rake the tile restlessly, body hunching in jerky movements, and was groaning breathlessly against his mouth until every pant was an obscene echo. Sweat gleamed on both their skin and Stiles moved to bite at the fabric of Derek’s jersey to keep himself quiet, the scent of sex heavy between the press of their bodies. He wanted to sob with the merciless pressure of it, wanted to howl but the boy was already doing for him. Muffled vicious animals sounds of pleasure into his neck as the unmistakable swell of a knot twitched and pulsed wetly between them.

* * *

23.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

“ _Jesus_ ,” Stiles panted, his breath hitching with Derek's every thrust. "Knot me," he breathed.

Stiles whined when Derek stopped moving.

"What is it?" Stiles turned to look over his shoulder, only to be met with Derek's horrified expression. "What's wrong?"

"I... I don't have a knot?"

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Was that supposed to be a question?"

"I don't have a knot," Derek repeated.

"That sucks," Stiles commented, hissing when Derek pressed at the rim of his hole in retaliation. "Christ."

" _Derek_ ," Derek corrected smugly, laughing when Stiles reached back blindly to hit him.

"Can you go back to fucking me now?" Stiles told him, clenching down onto Derek as he pulled out and relishing the groan Derek let out.

Derek pulled Stiles up and thrust back into him with a low moan. "Fuck, Stiles."

"Yeah, right there," Stiles reached down to jerk himself off as Derek's hands tightened on his hips. There were going to be bruises in the morning. "I'm so close, Derek," he whined, his hips pushing up into his grip, and Derek watched in awe at the fluid way Stiles' body moved, fucking up into his fist and back down against Derek.

"Me too," Derek admitted, his rhythm faltering. It only took a couple more thrusts before Derek let out a broken moan and spilled inside him. His teeth dug into Stiles' shoulder, and he whimpered when Derek reached down to wrap his hand around Stiles' and gave his cock a few tugs. A few moments later, Stiles came with a low cry over both their knuckles.

It took a while for Stiles to come down from his high, and when his vision cleared, he saw Derek carefully cleaning him up, and he felt a rush of fondness for his boyfriend.

"I love you," he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth.

"I love you too," Derek replied, just as quietly.

+++

"I have something for you," Derek whispered into Stiles' ear, following his words up with a sharp nip and smiling against Stiles' skin when Stiles' breath hitched and his hips pushed against Derek's own. "It's in the bag underneath my bed."

"I can get it later," Stiles whispered, his hands running down Derek's body, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. Before Derek could say another word, Stiles had already ducked his head to lick at his nipple.

" _Fuck_ , Stiles."

Stiles looked up to shoot him a wicked grin, before kissing his way down Derek's body and undoing the button of his jeans.

"Seriously, you'll love your gift," Derek murmured, even as his hand dropped into Stiles' hair.

Stiles hummed noncommittally, sucking a mark into Derek's hip. "I'm sure, babe."

"I'm not kidding," Derek said, lifting Stiles' chin with his fingers.

There was a moment of silence, where Stiles stared at Derek unblinkingly, before staring longingly at the bulge in Derek's boxer briefs.

"Fine," he sighed, using Derek's legs for leverage. "This better be good."

He plopped himself down onto the bed, making grabby hands at Derek when he held the box in his hands.

"You..." he trailed off, his eyes wide as it stared down at the package. "You got me a knotted dildo," he breathed out reverently, his hands trailing over it. He looked up and smirked when he saw Derek's mouth slightly open, his eyes tracking the movement of Stiles' fingers. "Can we use it tonight?"

Derek smiled smugly. "Yeah, we can."

He laughed when Stiles tackled him, pulling his legs up around his waist and kissing him.

"On your hands and knees," he muttered, smacking Stiles on the ass and shaking his head when Stiles yelped, wriggling out of his clothes. Derek ran a hand down Stiles' back and his ass reverently, spreading his cheeks apart and staring down at his hole. Ducking his head quickly, he licked a wet stripe over it, and smiled against the skin when Stiles moaned and pushed back for more.

Derek took his time rimming Stiles, opening him up slowly with his tongue and his fingers until Stiles was begging loudly for Derek to  _just fuck him already_.

He dragged the dildo across Stiles' hole, watching the way it clenched around nothing. "You love this," Derek teased.

He was prepared for Stiles screaming, and the way he ripped the pillow when the dildo slid in, but he wasn't prepared for the way Stiles stiffened immediately after the knot passed his rim and how he came untouched, kicking Derek in the face in the process.

* * *

24.

 **Warnings:** nogitsune!Stiles, angst, emotional manipulation, explicit talk about underage sex and dub-con  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“He likes this, you know,” the thing inside Stiles snarls, even as Derek holds it firmly against the wall by the neck. “When you rough him up.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t engage with the nogitsune, but he has to keep it occupied for at least half an hour so Scott can try to get some answers from Deaton. And one thing the nogitsune seems to share with its host is a love of its own voice, so Derek has to keep it talking. “I do not _rough_ Stiles up.”

The thing chuckles, a mockery of Stiles’ bright laughter. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re doing it right now.”

“You’re not Stiles.”

“If I had a fucking nickel…” the thing sighs. “I have all his thoughts, his memories. I’m in his body, which, coincidentally, is where he’d like you to be right now. Or any time, really. He’s flexible. No, honestly, he’s _flexible_. He can almost suck his own dick. Wanna see?”

“Kind of hard to do anything when you can’t move,” Derek growls, squeezing Stiles’ wrists tighter and pressing them harder into his back.

“Ooh, shit, that’s good.” It rolls Stiles’ hips against the wall. “This body is so fucking turned on right now.”

Derek sucks in a deep breath through his nose and immediately regrets it. He can smell Stiles’ – its? – arousal, spiking above the baseline teenage horniness that usually surrounds him.

“I know all of his fantasies,” it purrs. “Most of them are about you.”

There’s no telling how much of this the real Stiles will remember and Derek desperately wants to tell the nogitsune to shut its fucking mouth, but if it’s busy tormenting Derek, it’s not trying to escape.

The thing takes Derek’s silence as permission to keep talking. “That doesn’t surprise you, does it? Maybe you’ve thought about it, too?”

Derek isn’t expecting that, and he goes completely still. The thing immediately starts laughing. “Aw, how sweet. A little love story unfolding right under everyone’s noses.” There’s a pause, and then the thing undulates Stiles’ body back against Derek. “I could let you have him, you know. Just like this.”

Derek shoves back immediately, gorge rising at the nogitsune’s words. _Chaos, strife, and pain_ , Derek remembers. This thing is strong enough to kill him, but that’s not what it wants.

“The things he wants you to do to him,” it says, smirking. “He’s creative, I’ll give him that much.”

Derek’s fangs drop and his claws slide out before he can control himself, and the thing grins. “Oh, yeah, he’s all about that. You fucking him while you hold your claws to his throat, the tips pressing in just enough that it stings a little every time his heart beats. He likes the fangs, too. Wonders how hard you’d have to bite before you’d break the skin, if that would hurt or if it’d feel good. My money’s on ‘hurt,’ but hey, that might be his thing.”

Derek cuts him off with a growl. “You need to stop talking right now.”

“Or what, Wolfman? I’ve been feeding on pure crazy for 70 years, but I’d still hate to put you out of your misery. It just tastes so fucking good.”

“You’re not going to win,” Derek says, and it sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“But what gets him off the hardest – I mean _really_ makes him bust a nut – is the thought of you shoving that big werewolf dick deep inside him and swelling up until he wants to scream. Seriously, his legs get shaky after that one, and he doesn’t even know if you have a knot.” Its cold eyes snap back to Derek’s face. “Do you have a knot? He’s absolutely _dying_ to know. He won’t last long after I use up this body, so the least you can do is tell hi—”

It never gets the chance to finish, because Derek has his hand around Stiles’ throat and lifts him off the ground. There’s only so much Derek can take. “When I fuck Stiles, long after you’re gone, it’ll be because _he_ asks me. And yeah, I’ll knot him so good he _will_ scream.”

There’s a knee in Derek’s chest shoving him backwards and knocking the wind out of him. But before he feels the size ten Converse connect with his temple and everything goes black, at least he knows he got in the last word. And maybe, wherever he is, Stiles heard it.

* * *

25.

#### Heat

 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"Heat." Derek says.

He's covered in a thin sheen of sweat, pupils dilated, panting like he can't get enough air. Stiles touches Derek's cheek. "Yeah," he says. "You're burning up. We should get you to Deaton. Is this a wolfsbane thing?"

"No." Derek leans into Stiles' touch like he wants more, but then pulls away. "It's just—" He lets out a heavy, anguished sigh. "I'm in heat."

Stiles stares as Derek lowers himself gingerly to sit on the end of his bed. "Heat," Stiles echoes. "Heat. Like, 'the dog is in heat', heat?"

There's accusation in Derek's weak glare, but desperation, too. "Yes, Stiles. The dog is in heat. I'm not sick, you can go."

It takes a few moments for Stiles to parse it before he moves. He heads for the bed, drops down beside Derek. "What do you need?"

Derek lifts his head like he's exhausted, surprise, even hope in his expression. Then it's gone. "I don't expect—"

"Stop," Stiles says.

Derek stares, eyes glassy, breathing hard. Then he presses into Stiles' side, like he can't get close enough.

"I'm here," Stiles whispers. "Tell me what you need."

Stiles has seen Derek vulnerable before. None of that compares to the moment Derek's resolve breaks, when he closes his eyes, twists his fingers into Stiles' shirt and tucks his face into the curve of Stiles' throat. "I need _you_ ," he moans, and Stiles' heart breaks for him.

"It _is_ a sex thing, right?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods.

"D'you wanna fuck me?"

Derek whimpers and shakes his head. "I need you inside me."

Stiles' brain seizes.

"Please," Derek moans, mouthing at Stiles' jaw and pulling at his clothes. " _Stiles_."

"Okay." Stiles tugs his shirt over his head, then holds Derek's face in his hands and presses their lips together. "Yeah, I can do that."

Stiles imagines it like the handful of times they've done it before, but with Derek on his back instead of Stiles. But when Derek gets out of his clothes he crawls into the middle of the bed and presses his shoulders into the mattress, thighs spread, ass in the air. His hole is pink and puffy, glistening, like he's already been fucked. "Did you—" Stiles wonders, dragging a finger around Derek's rim.

Derek shakes his head, quivering under Stiles' touch. "Please."

Stiles brings his finger to his mouth. The taste is reminiscent of precome, softer somehow, sweeter. It's slick like lube, and two fingers slide easily into Derek's body.

Stiles lets out a moan. "So hot." He imagines what it'll feel like around his dick. He's going to come as soon as he gets inside.

Derek shudders. He pushes back. "Fuck me, Stiles," he begs, twisting, reaching back to grip Stiles' thigh. "Need it."

"Yeah," Stiles murmurs, sliding his fingers out of Derek's ass, wrapping them around his dick. He's achingly hard, leaking precome that's slicked down his shaft. He presses the head of his cock to Derek's hole, pushes it in with his thumb.

"Holy crap." Derek's ass seems to grab him, dragging him in. He pushes forward involuntarily, sinks deep in one accidental thrust. Derek makes a deep, resonant sound of satisfaction.

They still for a moment, Derek sighing as he clenches down. Then, "Move," he says, his voice a rasping groan.

Stiles does, pushing upright, holding Derek's hip with one hand, stroking Derek's cock with the other. He pulls back, slides back in. His orgasm teases at the edge of his consciousness, threatening to break at any moment, and Derek's soft grunts intersperse with cries that grow higher in pitch with each thrust.

Derek stiffens, ass clenching down on Stiles' dick. Stiles gives another thrust, another stroke, and Derek starts to come with a long, drawn out groan, his body jerking with every spasm.

Unable to hold back, Stiles pushes deep and hard, shuddering with each pulse as he empties his balls into Derek's body.

They collapse in a sweaty tangle of limbs to catch their breath.

"Heat," Stiles says. "I didn't know."

Derek sighs, closes his eyes. "Born werewolves. Once every few years if you're lucky. But now I'm with you." He opens them again, and there's a crease of worry between his brows.

"More often?"

Derek nods. "I can stay away if you'd rather not— A few days, and it passes."

"Hell no," Stiles says. "I'm going to look after you."

"For a change?" Derek's lips tug up at the corner.

"Ha," Stiles scoffs, and drags Derek into a kiss.

* * *

26.

 **Warnings:** aggressive sex, knotting, implied heat  
 **Pairing:** Kira/Scott

He puts his teeth in her neck, his cock in her cunt, legs hooked over his shoulders. Feels the soft curl of her tails around his thighs, he tightens them, driving deeper into her. She puts claws in his back, baring her canines at him, flashing her eyes. He flashes his in return but she doesn't quiet. Doesn't take her nails out of his flesh, just brings them down. It's exhilarating, not having control of her. The wild eyes, not wolf or lizard or human. Glaring, daring him to do better.

He wraps his arms around her, holding her closer, pushing in deeper, and she squeals for it, breaths coming in long, exhausted sobs. Ears pinned back against the top of her head. Fangs out, mumbles half formed: "Fuck, Scott, fuck me, _fuck me_."

•••

She called in sick after the lightning storm. The two events had had the potential to be isolated. Still, Scott visited after school. And he didn't use the front door. And when he scaled his way to her bedroom window, he carefully avoided the glass door to the living room. Just in case. Pushed her window open; crawled in silently; followed her scent the whole way, bodily possessed.

Silence didn't keep him from being caught. He'd been pinned to the floor before he could whisper her name, heavy breaths and pointy things weighing him down. He surged up and she surged in, kissing him blind, biting at his lips. He pushed her down, rolled on top. Stopped. Her _ears_?

"Kira, what happened to your head?" was not the smartest way to ask his question, her face scrunching into a cocktail blend of hurt and confused and aroused. He gaped for a moment, but before any other sewage could spill, she told him,

"No time, Scott, please, I _need_ you."

•••

The fourth time she comes, she does so without his thumb between her legs, arm jimmied between their writhing selves, shoulder putting distance between their faces. This time, her face is wedged into the space between his neck and his jaw, teeth curled around him while his hand grips at her hair, right between the two fox ears right on the top of her head. She comes on his dick, and he feels it begin to swell at the base, catching on her opening, movement becoming more difficult.

"Scott," she moans, both pushing and pulling at him. He reaches for her arms to hold them down but she squirms, jamming his hands away. He snarls, showing teeth, and bucks in. The swollen knot shoves forward, into the wet heat of her pussy. She shouts, as does he. The binding bliss of orgasm takes him, and he goes.

•••

"Kira, _what_ —"

She surged forward, kissing him wholly on the lips, and he had to grab her and wrench her back. Rational thought wasn't coming easily, but he knew that the fox ears and the nine tails were not there the day before she called in sick. He tried to ask her what was wrong with her body and what was that _amazing smell_ when she interjected,

"Scott, we don't have time. I _need_ you. _Now_."

•••

The fog lasts longer than he expects, and he can't pull out. Confusion leads to him almost hurting her, but she puts her legs around his waist and her hands around his face and just holds him. When he calms, she cards her fingers through his hair; he rests his head on her shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize that his claws are retracting and his teeth are shrinking back to their human constitution. He looks to her, brows furrowed.

"You've been wolfed out for awhile."

He closes his eyes and inhales. The scent of her has retreated, but it lingers, keeping him high. He tries to pull out again, almost gets free before she's stopping him again, nails deep in the skin of his neck.

"So, this… _this_ …," he starts, but doesn't know how to finish. Just shakes his head and asks, "Did you have anything to do with the lightning storm?"

She laughs. Snide, but amused. "Yeah. That was when all of this," and she gestures lazily around the room, "started."

"It's not over, huh?"

She takes his face in her hands, smiles down at him, and one fox ear twitches. "Not yet," she murmurs, leaning in to brush their lips together. "I think it's gonna be a _long_ weekend."


	2. Group B - with warnings and pairings

27.

 **Warnings:** stalker tendencies, frottage, petting  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Issac

It was a hot night unusual for the time of year and Lydia left her window open, not worried about things that go bump in the night so much now that there was a pack of friends around her. Plus her room was on the 2nd floor of the house and one had to be very agile to climb the three just to the side of it. It was a bright full moon as well, and it cast an eerie white light over the town.

Startled out of sleep Lydia rubbed her eyes and looked around. She'd gotten used to vivid dreams both good and bad, though they had become fewer than before. But that had happened before too and then gotten bad again. She tensed up as she realised she wasn't alone and blinked as her eyes got used to the darkness of her room. And that's when she could start to see the outline of someone else, standing by her window. They were tall and thin if she was seeing right. And then she saw the glow of yellow eyes and her first thought was friend or foe?

A werewolf.

"You once promised me a date when my bike didn't have chain on it do you remember?"

Issac.

Lydia smiled and nodded slowly in the dark her eyes now more accustomed to the dark. But also helped by he full moon outside too. "I remember."

He moved to the side of her bed and leaned down closer toward her. "I've something much better now you know." He smiled in that way that was just so him and set his hands on her bed.

She reached over to turn on the lamp and he grabbed her wrist. It wasn't tight but it did stop her and she looked up at him. "Don't." He sat on the edge of her bed, hands on her legs under the blanket. Lydia wasn't frightened of him but she was curious to this sudden talk of their past and of him being here too.

He leaned in closer to her, nubbing against her cheek, nuzzling against her neck and was making soft almost cooing sounds. "I feel strange. I need your help."

"Isaac what's wrong?"

He pulled his jacket off and tossed it on the ground and then tugged for his shirt and pulled it off as well. His eyes were glowing and he was looking more and more... well, dangerous. "It's a special moon Derek says, and wolves' senses and urges are greater." He pulled away the bedspread and moved in next to her, his legs against her bare one. "I don't want to do that but I don't want to be alone. Can.. will you just hold me through it?"

Lydia was inwardly protesting as Isaac spoke and didn't know what he was thinking but when he asked so sweetly she couldn't deny him and lay back in back motioning him to join her. Isaac sighed and lay down, but was pressed against her, arms around her and his face pressed against her neck. He kept touching her, rubbing against her and petting her bare skin.

"Maybe tomorrow you could take me for a ride on your bike.

* * *

28.

 **Warnings:** None, I don't think  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

The first time Stiles felt Derek's fur against his face he gasped. It was mostly accidental – Derek has just finished scaring off the monster of the week, Stiles' brain didn't have time to comprehend the shape of the monster beyond claws and wings before it swiped at Stiles, leaving him crumpled against a tree.

Derek leaned down to pick Stiles up, face brushing against Stiles' neck as he manoeuvred Stiles carefully over his shoulder. Stiles shivered as he felt the combined rough fur and careful prick of claws. He put it down to nerves and adrenaline and ow ow, his ribs were painful.

Stiles didn't even really think about it until he was in the shower, hand around his cock. He flashed back to the feel of fur against his face and shuddered, coming over the wall of the shower. He stared, breathless as the water washed his come away and shrugged. _That was new_. 

~~~

“How much control do you have over the transformation?” Stiles asked, way too lightly. He winced as Derek looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “Hypothetically?”

Derek's mouth twisted but he answered. “Pretty fine.” 

“So, say, just teeth? Or I suppose, teeth and jaw. Or just claws?”

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles sighed. 

“I want you to fuck me while furry,” Stiles said in a rush, flushing a bright red. He licked his lips and Derek's eyes fell to his mouth, instinctively.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Derek replied. 

“You're sexy when you quote internet memes. I've done so well.” 

“I could probably do that,” Derek said, as if Stiles hadn't spoken. “I've never tried it before though. Never used it for – that.” 

“Would you want to?”

Derek shrugged. “Sure. I mean, its not a fantasy, but if you find it hot, I'll do it. It doesn't make me want to run away.”

Stiles nodded. “That's something.” 

~~~

It took a while. And lots of making out. Stiles' face was red raw, he had light red scratches down his sides and he loved it. It wasn't the danger – he was happy having no danger, which is why he trusted Derek to do it – it was pure sensation that Stiles was interested in. 

Derek knelt between his legs and Stiles had to fight to keep his eyes open. Derek paused and Stiles could almost hear the transformation. The sideburns tickled the inside of his thighs as Derek moved closer. 

Derek was so so careful, Stiles could feel the nip of teeth on his thigh, but as soon as his erection was enveloped in Derek's mouth it was all soft hot wetness. Stiles moaned, low and long, back arching. 

It was intoxicating, Stiles loved getting his cock sucked but the roughness of the fur made a contrast that just made him hotter. He felt his orgasm at the base of his spine, and he thrust once, hissing as Derek tightened his grip on Stiles' thighs, claws digging in slightly. 

Stiles groaned and came, curling up slightly. He panted, watching Derek move away gently. He wiped his mouth, transforming back.

“Give me a minute,” Stiles panted. “That was awesome. Like, really awesome.” 

“I noticed you enjoyed it,” Derek replied, moving Stiles over so he could lie next to Stiles on the bed. 

“Thank you,” Stiles mumbled, leaning over to kiss Derek.

“Welcome,” Derek muttered.

* * *

29.

 **Warnings:** Medical Kink, objectification, and dub-con in the context of roleplaying  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

Stiles adjusted the sleeves of his lab coat as he stepped into the examination room. He loved his job, but he had a feeling that today was going to be something special, if the file on this particular subject was anything to go by.

As expected, the subject had already been set up, laid out flat on his back with thick leather cuffs holding arms and legs spread wide open.

On a nearby table a pair of latex gloves had already been set out, and Stiles didn’t hesitate to grab them, snapping them into place and smirking when the sound caused the subject to jerk futilely.

“Now now, none of that,” he said, turning around and placing a soothing hand on quivering thighs. “No use in getting wound up before I’ve even done anything, amiright?”

The subject didn’t say anything, just glowered up at Stiles with glowing eyes, mouth only partially able to frown around protruding teeth. Stiles was pleased. It wasn’t necessary for subjects to be shifted in order for him to get the data he needed, but he himself always thought it was more interesting this way.

“Ok big guy, lets see if we can get things warmed up.” Stiles reach back toward the same table where his gloves had been, and grabbed a bottle of lube. He squirted a generous amount into one gloved hand, before reaching forward to touch. He stroked his hands in long teasing glides to start off, massaging lightly before he arrowed straight toward his ultimate goal.

The subject’s cock was still soft, a comfortable handful that felt good through the layers of latex and slippery lube. Stiles kept his strokes easy, and he smiled in triumph when the cock in his hands began to chub up. Once fully hard, Stiles carefully noted the dimensions of the erection, satisfied at its size and girth, and unable to keep his own body from reacting—It was acceptable for him to react of course, so long as he didn’t actively overstep the lines of professionalism that his job entailed.

Notes made, he only spent a few more minutes playing with his subject’s cock, just to enjoy the feel of it. He still had work to do however, so he finally moved on, squirting another dollop of lube into his hands, before moving on to the subject’s ass. Stiles was pleased to note that he was shaved there, the skin smooth and inviting, and he didn’t waste a second before slipping a finger inside. It went in so smoothly that when he withdrew them, he pressed two back in. The subject on the table made a low rumbling growl at that, and Stiles smirked at the vocalization. When his hands weren’t quite so tied up, he would make a note of the sound as a sign of the subject’s sensitivity.

With a precision born of practice, Stiles then aimed for the subject’s prostate, finding it and massaging it mercilessly. His other hand reached up, catching the subject’s cock, just as it gave a noticeable jump at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. The growls increased in pitch, becoming almost sub-vocal as Stiles continued to work him, one hand milking at him from the inside, while the other fisted around the thick cock, working in tight up and down strokes that he hoped would be enough to get him the final bit of data that he needed.

He wasn’t disappointed. A few moments later the subject’s body went rigid, and when Stiles worked his hands down one more time, he was met with the growing bulge of an impressive knot. It was too big for him to get one fist around, so he pulled his other hand free from the subject’s ass and double fisted his hands together, wrapping the cock tight and squeezing with a steady pressure. The subject did the rest, arching his hips up to lock the knot into Stiles’ cupped hands, which were almost immediately covered in a thick splash of milky semen.

Oh yes, now Stiles could finally get the data he truly needed

~~~

Stiles unlocked the leather cuffs from Derek’s limbs, before gently wiping him down with a wet towel.

“You ok?” he asked.

Derek hummed, pulling Stiles down to the “examination table” beside him, the sheets still sticky with an impressive amount of come. He smiled drowsily at Stiles, and flicked at the name tag, clipped to the remnants of an old Halloween costume, that read simply “Dr. Feel Good.”

* * *

30.

 **Warnings:** knotting, sex toys  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

After the game, Stiles somehow beats Derek back to Derek's apartment and is settled on the sofa with the package in his lap, gazing down at it with a mix of reverence and glee. That ratchets up Derek's curiosity and he drops himself on the opposite end, reaching for the box. Stiles catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and slams the box shut.

"I need to explain," he says, his eyes turning panicky and Derek's everything freezes. Including, he's pretty sure, his heart. Stiles continues without noticing.

"Remember that first time we fucked, when you finally let me get my hands on your dick, and I found out the knot thing was a myth?"

Derek facepalms; there's no way he could forget Stiles' disappointment from that night, or how hard he tried to cover it. 

"Well, it took me awhile, but I found something." The sofa creaks as he leans forward and then there's the soft weight of something in Derek's lap. He drags his hand down to his mouth and finds himself staring at a red and yellow dildo that sort of reminds him of the Iron Man suit. Despite that, the dildo looks intriguing, with its pointier tip and gill-like ridges on either side. The main attraction of it, Derek assumes, is the swelling at the base. Not huge, but thicker than Derek's dick, probably. Derek takes it out of the box and wraps his hand around the knot; his fingers don't quite touch.

"I started out small," Stiles goes on. He's all nerves, his hands trying to do the talking for him. "The biggest they had was ten and a half. I want to come, not tear myself apart." He takes the dildo from Derek and strokes it once, his eyes going dark. "If you don't want to, I can—"

"No," Derek says immediately. "I want to." 

Derek isn't sure what happens to his clothes after that. All he knows is Stiles leading him to the bed still smelling of grass and soap. Stiles' dick hard and bobbing smacking his stomach as he falls to the bed, the lazy spread of his legs. Derek follows him down, trying to take his time kissing Stiles, but he's eager and keeps nudging Derek in the butt.

"Derek c'mon," he croons, nipping at Derek's mouth. "You can take it as slow as you want, after, but I can't wait. Please," he pleads, pushing the lube into Derek's hand.

It seems to take no time at all for Derek to finger Stiles open, to roll on the condom, to tease Stiles with the pointed tip.

"Ah, _christ_. Talk about ribbed for my pleasure. This feels amazing."

Derek can't feel it, but the greedy clutch of Stiles' hole around lurid red and gold is pretty amazing, too. He wants to get his mouth on Stiles' drooling dick, but can't stop watching the slick in and out. 

Stiles groans when Derek starts to press a little deeper, letting Stiles feel the swell of the knot. A hand lands on Derek's shoulder and squeezes. Stiles grits out, "Do it. I'm okay."

He works it in with a series of shallow thrusts and twists. Stiles shudders, his own hips moving until the thickest part of the knot is inside him. His gasp is electric, his nails digging hard into Derek's shoulder, and Derek looks up to see Stiles red from the chest up, his eyes glazed over.

"Oh my fucking god," Stiles moans. His hips haven't stilled, and Derek can see the tiny movements of the dildo, rocking inside Stiles. Derek thumps the wide base with his thumb, and twists it a little more, until Stiles howls, "I'm gonna— Derek!"

Derek surges up to get his mouth on Stiles' dick and has enough time to give him two quick bobs. Stiles comes on a shuddery breath, shooting over Derek's tongue and cheek. The best part, is Stiles sweaty and trembling, limp and beaming. Derek crawls up Stiles' body, bumping their dicks together along the way, and covers Stiles to keep him warm and grounded.

It takes Stiles a little longer than normal to come down. To wrap his arms around Derek's neck and hold on through Derek's tiny, hitching thrusts. He aims a pleased hum at Derek's ear and shimmies his hips. "Aren't you gonna fuck me?"

Derek stills. "D'you think that's a good idea?"

Stiles grins. "All my ideas are good ideas."

Derek could argue with that, but he won't.

* * *

31.

 **Warnings:** Mention of fisting. And maybe a little… _more_ than fisting?  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“How does it feel?” Derek’s breath is hot on Stiles’ neck, voice raw, desperate. “Tell me,” he whispers. His arms tighten around Stiles as he holds him close.

Stiles pushes back against Derek’s sweat-slick chest. He’s used to this, knows exactly what to do to make them both comfortable while they ride out the waves of pleasure, as Derek’s knot swells inside him.

“Full,” Stiles replies. “Stretched out and so fucking _full.”_

Derek growls against his ear, nips at his neck. “Just for you,” he says. “Only you.” 

Carefully, he rolls to his back, pulling Stiles with him. They could lie like this for hours, Stiles’ back to Derek’s chest, feet flat against the bed bracketing Derek’s calves. He could fall asleep this way, filled up—they’ve done it plenty of times before—but Stiles isn’t done. 

He can still feel the throb of Derek’s cock inside him, the hot pulse of come painting his insides. He pulls himself up to sitting, drags his feet up the bed so he’s resting on his knees. 

It takes a moment of stillness to get used to the new angle. His head is bowed, eyes closed as he narrows his focus to the feel of Derek filling him up. Stiles scritches his nails through the coarse hair on Derek’s thighs, and then begins to move. His range of motion is limited while they’re tied together like this, but that doesn’t stop him from finding his own pleasure. He presses down and rocks himself on Derek’s cock, circling his hips so he can feel Derek’s knot _everywhere._

Derek cries out at the sensation, a loud whimpering moan that causes Stiles’ skin to tighten and prickle with goosebumps. Clawed fingers drag down his back, and Stiles arches into the touch, eliciting another groan of pleasure from Derek. 

“I could show you,” Stiles says between panting breaths. He rolls his hips again, lips parting on a silent moan as Derek’s knot drags against Stiles’ prostate. “If you let me, I could fill you up this way.” Stiles chokes on the last of his words as Derek thrusts up, fingers curling around Stiles’ hips. He pulls him down, uses inhuman strength to slide Stiles back and forth until all Stiles can do is hang on for dear life, gripping Derek’s muscled thighs and grinding down. 

"And how would you do that?" Derek asks. The pulsing of his dick has slowed, but his grip on Stiles is still firm as he moves him on his cock, and Stiles knows it's just for him; for his own pleasure, his own release that Derek is driving him toward. _"Tell me.”_

"I could—" He’s breathless from the pleasure coiling inside him, hot and tight. "I could do it," Stiles manages. "I could wrap a fist around my cock and _fuck_ you with everything I have." 

Derek hisses in a breath, his toes curling at Stiles' words. 

Stiles has seen toys that are thicker at their base, but he's always preferred Derek's dick to anything inorganic. He could buy one of those to start Derek off. He does like the idea of jerking himself off inside Derek; fist-fucking him as hard and long as either of them can stand it. 

"Yeah?" Derek rasps after a moment, as if he's only just rediscovered his voice. Hands trail up and down Stiles' back, fingertips kneading into the curve of his ass as Derek spreads him open further. 

"I'd start with a finger," Stiles says. "Push it into you while you're stretched around my cock." 

Derek moans, slicking a thumb along Stiles' stretched rim, like he always does, loving the feel of Stiles around his knot.

"And then another," Stiles continues. "It'll feel so good, Derek. You'll be so full, you won't ever want me to stop fucking you." 

Derek sits up, pressing open-mouthed kisses across Stiles' back, drags his hands down Stiles' chest, pausing to scratch blunt nails over his nipples. He presses the flat of his palm to Stiles' lower belly. 

"Would you fuck me until I was swollen with your come?" Derek's teeth clamp down on Stiles shoulder, and Stiles shudders. The color bleeds out of his vision as his orgasm crashes through him. He’s squeezing around Derek, gripping him in his heat, like his body is reluctant for it to be over. 

Derek maneuvers them back into a more comfortable position, Stiles splayed out on top of him. 

“I want you to,” he says, kissing the side of Stiles’ neck. "Next time." 

* * *

32.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

"God, Derek," Stiles gasped as Derek bent down over him, tugging down his boxers, freeing his cock _finally_ after what had felt like hours of teasing touches. "Please, I need _more_." 

The deep growl Stiles received in response sent a shiver down his spine punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. He held onto Derek as he bent over him, dragging him into a lewd kiss, wet and filthy and nearly everything that Stiles wanted.

Stiles was desperate. Hungry for more of Derek than he had ever gotten before. Derek had always been so gentle with him, even during their most heated moments. Stiles knew there was more to him, though, a rougher, darker side that he hadn't yet gotten to experience. A side that he wanted more than anything.

Stiles had asked before, had practically begged once, but Derek never gave in. He had his reasons and most of them began and ended with Stiles being human, _fragile_. Stiles knew he wasn't as delicate as Derek had made him out to be. He just had to make Derek understand.

Stiles dug his fingernails into Derek's skin, just hard enough to make indents. Derek _whimpered_ , his face pressed in against Stiles' neck, breath ghosting over his skin. "Stiles..." he said, his voice a warning that Stiles didn't care to heed.

"Please, Derek," Stiles begged, his body arching into his touch. "Just let go... For me."

Stiles could tell Derek was just on this edge of control and he knew that he was pushing past the last boundaries Derek had built up. All it would take is just one more little shove. What that shove was, though, Stiles still didn't know. He moaned and writhed against Derek, pushing down on the slick fingers that were already working him open, clearly desperate for more. Still, though, Derek didn't give in.

Derek was a model of control and it frustrated Stiles to no end, especially because he wasn't anything like him. Control was something Stiles fought hard for and rarely achieved. Control of his thoughts, control of his limbs. It all escaped him. For once, Stiles wanted Derek to join him, to feel the exhilaration of letting go. 

Stiles felt a third finger press inside him and it _ached_ with how badly Stiles needed more. "Derek," Stiles moaned, rocking back on Derek's fingers, feeling him press deep. "Come on," he pleaded, " _fuck_ me."

 _There it was_. There was a broken growl from Derek and fingers being pulled free only to be replaced with something much thicker and hotter. Stiles cried out, clinging to Derek as he felt the delicious burn of being stretched open. "Yes," Stiles whimpered, legs wrapping around Derek, "Fuck me, Derek, come on. Let go."

"Stiles..." Derek's voice was rough and desperate, making it clear to Stiles that his wish had been granted. Stiles could feel the prick of Derek's claws against him as they grew out, pressing into his skin as Derek held him steady, his hips already working into a rhythm as he fucked Stiles.

Stiles dropped his head back, baring his neck more for Derek, submitting to him entirely. Derek took the hint and nipped at Stiles' skin, dangerously sharp fangs scraping along his pulse, making Stiles shiver. His tongue followed and the way he lapped at Stiles' sweat slick skin after each scrape of his teeth reduced Stiles into a mess of hungry whimpers and clinging limbs.

It was only a matter of time before Stiles couldn't hold on any longer, Derek thrusting into him so that Stiles knew he would feel for days, it burned in a way that Stiles had craved, ached like he never wanted to forget. He hadn't even had a chance to get his hand on his own cock before he felt his orgasm hit him, his entire body tensing in the sudden rush of his release, come spilling out across his stomach. Derek practically roared as his own hit him, his voice ringing in Stiles' ears as he felt him pulsing inside him, filling him up as his hips pressed flush against him.

It was some time later that they were coming down, both their hearts pounding in their chests, Derek still nuzzling against Stiles' neck, now blunt teeth scraping over his skin. "We've got to do that again sometime," Stiles murmured, one hand playing with Derek's hair. The low rumble of laughter that he received in return was enough for Stiles to know that Derek was in agreement.

* * *

33.

 **Warnings:** scenting, biting  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Isaac

Isaac tightened his hands in Scott’s soft brown hair as Scott slowly trailed kissed up his neck. Being kissed by Scott was surely the greatest high he would ever experience. Scott’s lips were so soft and perfect and he knew exactly the right spots to hit to elicit a response from Isaac. The way he cradled Isaac’s head in his hands spoke volumes about how he felt about Isaac. Truly, Isaac wouldn’t change a thing...well, maybe one.

As much as he loved how gentle Scott was, sometimes he just wanted Scott to truly be the Alpha in bed - to dominate him and take him. But Isaac didn’t know how to verbalize this and unfortunately, subtle (and not so subtle) hints never worked.

Isaac tried several different things. He raked his hands down Scott’s back, hard enough to draw blood. He actually put Scott’s hand around his throat at one point. Every time Scott just stopped and kissed Isaac and went back to whatever tender ministrations he had been doing before.

Finally, Isaac almost literally bit the bullet and almost took a chunk out of Scott’s neck in the middle of giving him a hickey.

Scott yelped and jumped back. He looked at Isaac incredulously. “What the hell, Isaac?”

Isaac feigned innocence and shrugged. “What do you expect? I’m a werewolf.”

“You’re a werewolf, not a vampire.” Scott said as he rubbed at his neck.

Frustrated, Isaac sat up. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little adventurous in bed. Maybe you could stand to be a little rougher as well.”

Scott looked down and gulped. “I don’t want to be rougher.”

“Why not?”

“Because I...I don’t want to hurt you.”

Isaac threw back his head and laughed. “Hello, Scott. Haven’t you heard of a little thing called werewolf healing. You’re not going to hurt me no matter what you do.”

Scott shook his head. “That’s not true. I can’t do that with you not with what you’ve been through.”

And there it was. Isaac had really hoped that his past wasn’t the reason Scott was treating him with kid gloves, but of course it was. A part of Isaac just wanted to kiss Scott for being...well Scott and being so considerate and kind and loving. But a bigger part wanted to throttle him.

“You don’t want to damage poor, abused Isaac.” Isaac said his voice dripped with anger, and more than that, with hurt.

Scott looked up quickly and seemed to realize that he had said the wrong thing. “That’s not...I didn’t mean it like…”

“Like what?” Isaac got in Scott’s face. “Do you still see me as some sort of victim, Scott?”

“No!”

“Because I’m not. I refuse to be let what happened to me define the rest of my life.” 

“I know.” Scott said as he cupped Isaac’s face in his hands. “I just don’t want to do the wrong thing with you. I care about you so much.”

Isaac instantly melted. He realized he was being a little hard on Scott. It was just he never wanted Scott of all people to see him still as some pathetic person who needed to be protected. “Scott, I spent so much of my life being scared and not knowing who I was and what I wanted. But I know what I want now. And I’m not going to let my father and what happened take that away.” He climbed in Scott’s lap. “I’m willing to give you everything I have Scott. I want you to take it. Make me yours.”

Scott looked into Isaac’s eyes before he surged forward and gave Isaac an open-mouthed kiss full of desire and passion. He pulled back on Isaac’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

When Isaac yelped briefly, Scott paused briefly.

Isaac shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s good.”

They both giggled before Scott pushed Isaac down roughly. He climbed on top of Isaac and yanked back on his hair. 

Isaac moaned loudly.

Scott buried his nose in his neck and sniffed deeply.

Isaac threw his legs around Scott’s waist. 

Before Isaac knew what happened, Scott had entered him roughly.

Isaac groaned and threw his chest out. Scott held him down by his hair and plowed into him. Scott’s nose trailed up his neck and bit down on Isaac’s earlobe and whispered. “You’re mine.”

Isaac came as Scott bit down on his neck and truly took everything Isaac had to give him. Isaac was his body and soul.

* * *

34.

 **Warnings:** Knotting  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"Are you sure you want to try this?" Derek asks for the third time.

Stiles groans and shoots a glare over his shoulder. "If you don't fuck me soon, I'm going to go home."

"No, you won't."

"No, I won't. But you really need to hurry up and fuck me or I'm going to come."

"Just from this?" Derek asks with a grin as he twists his fingers inside of Stiles. The move earns him a deep groan, followed by a desperate whimper.

"Yes, just from that."

On another day he's going to have to try that – fingerfucking Stiles until he comes from Derek's hand alone. Maybe he'll go so far as fisting. He kind of wants to see what Stiles would look like stretched out over Derek's knuckles. But that's for another time. They have something else on their agenda today.

Derek sits back on his heels, letting his fingers slip out of Stiles with a faint bit of regret. He shifts upon his knees and then he shifts again. The change always feels so natural to him. He knows the others think it feels weird but unlike them he was born a wolf. It will always feel like second nature to let his skin ripple. His eyebrows recede. His forehead ridges. His ears elongate. His nails sharpen to claws. But, the big change, the one Stiles is so adamant about trying – ever since he heard about it from Scott – is the knot that forms at the base of his penis.

He places his hands carefully on the sides of Stiles's hips, gentler than he's ever been. He doesn't want to scratch Stiles or end their night of lovemaking with a trip to the emergency room. He wiggles forward on his knees until he can line up. His dick is hard – how could it not be with Stiles's perfect ass on display for him. Stiles moans again as Derek's dick kisses his entrance and that's all the encouragement Derek needs to push forward.

This is not the first time he's fucked Stiles but it feels like it. Everything is hyper-sensitive with his werewolf senses. He can smell Stiles's arousal like a heavy perfume, mingling with sweat and precum. Stiles's hands fist in the pillow and Derek hears the way the fabric bunches and Stiles's muscles tense. Stiles feels so good. He always has. Too good for Derek to resist burying himself in that sweet, sweet body.

Once he's fully seated he leans forward and licks a droplet of sweat from Stiles's neck, making Stiles shiver beneath him.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asks as he begins to fuck Stiles in earnest. The top of his knot bumps against Stiles's entrance with every thrust but doesn't enter him, not yet.

"Yes," Stiles moans. His head dips low towards the pillow. He rolls his hips into each thrust. "Yes. Please."

"Since you asked so nicely..." Derek picks up the pace. It doesn't take much to get Stiles panting, to make it so that Stiles is practically writhing beneath him, pushing back and forth on Derek's cock as he tries to get more, faster, deeper.

He knows Stiles is close, he has been since before Derek entered him. It takes a few minutes for Derek to build up to it. Part of it is that he doesn't want to end this, not yet. Part of him is scared that he's going to hurt Stiles.

"Please. Knot me," Stiles begs, and who is Derek to resist. He thrusts hard, pushing his knot all the way inside of Stiles. Warm heat tightens around the very base of him and he can't help it – he comes.

Stiles gasps beneath him, trapped by the sudden surge of Derek on top of him. He belatedly realizes that he's pressing Stiles down into the bed with his weight and pushes himself up with his arms, giving Stiles a little room to breathe. Not that Stiles seems to care about breathing. He's too busy humping the sheets, coming onto the mattress with hard, sharp jerks of his body.

Derek waits until Stiles stills before shifting back to human form. The knot recedes, freeing their bodies so that he can slip out of Stiles and roll to one side.

"Was that everything you hoped for?" Derek asks.

Stiles turns his head, not bothering to move out of the growing wet pool he's lying in. "And more."

"Maybe if you're good we'll do it again."

Stiles just grins.

* * *

35.

 **Warnings:** Xeno, M/M/F/F, Underage  
 **Pairing:** Cora/Derek/Laura/Stiles

The Sheriff has a kind heart. After his wife's death he chose to open his home. It started out with fostering, then lead to adoption. And now Stiles can't run from the loudness and constant interruptions fast enough. Between his dad and his 9 siblings, it's no wonder the only way Stiles can get a moment with his dick, is when he takes his nightly walk through the woods behind his house. 

He's got a favorite spot, about a 20 minute hike from the main trail. There is a small clearing where a soft patch of blue grass grows. 

He's always obscenely hard by the time he's thrown his clothes off and is stripping his cock under the stars. Here Stiles feels free. Unembarrassed, unashamed. Free from the noisy kids that have taken over every inch of his life.

Stiles wanks in even numbers. He likes coming in twos. So his first orgasm is always hurried and inelegant. Just quick strokes that have him shooting a geyser over his stomach and the ground. When he comes he shouts and laughs and doesn't hold back his throaty cries. 

His dick is twitching. He only gives himself a few moments before he sets in on the long wank. The one where he spends just as much time caressing his neck, nipples and balls as he does rubbing his palm up and down his cock. 

He's so into his wank he doesn't hear the sounds of the three wolves that have been stalking him for weeks approach. 

They are at the tree line. Eyes burning bright. Primary red, yellow, blue. Two girls and a boy wolf. 

The wolves surround Stiles. 

He senses something, and opens his eyes to see a wolf staring down at him. He reacts fast, crawling backwards as fast as his crab walk will take him. Right into a hairy wall -- another wolf who flashes her yellow eyes at Stiles when he whips his head around. 

“ _Fuuuuuck,_ ” he screams out, just in time to see another wolf with bright blue eyes. 

Stiles doesn't know why, but after the initial shock wears off, he's really not scared. They’re just looking down at him, and he senses their want.

Stiles lays himself down, an invitation for them to do what they please. He just closes his eyes and waits. 

The first lick comes from his right -- the red eyed wolf, he suspects. She licks his chest and trails down to his armpit. The sensation is startling, but then, it feels so _good_. Stiles's dick starts to get hard again from where it had flagged from fright. 

The wolf on his left starts her ministrations on his groin. She licks his hair, then his length to the tip of his dick. 

Stiles cries out because it feels _amazing_. The boy wolf starts in on his sensitive balls. He’s licking with long broad strokes until Stiles can't help but spread his legs wide, inviting the wolf to lick at his throbbing hole. 

Right as the wolf dips his tongue into Stiles's ass, Stiles's back bows and he’s shooting come all over his stomach and thighs. It's like fireworks from his dick. 

The three wolves start licking him clean. They keep lapping at him until he’s almost screaming from oversensation. It’s so fucking perfect.

The wolves run off as soon as Stiles is up on his feet. He’s alone and still wet. The air is chilly against the spit painted liberally on his flesh. He dresses and walks backs to the house. Only tonight instead of feeling like he’s walking toward his home, he feels like he’s walking away from something... 

He never sleeps that night, replaying the events over and over until the sun comes.

 

The Hale siblings keep to themselves. They excel at staying in their exclusive bubble of eyebrows spiked with annoyance. Stiles is unloading the contents of his locker when he catches a glimpse of the three of them staring back at him through the reflection of his locker mirror. Stiles Jr. is taking an interest in the proceedings and Stiles knows, JUST KNOWS, why. 

With all the strength he can muster, he turns and walks the invisible line linking Derek, Laura and Cora Hale’s eyes to his own. He summons every ounce of courage when he stops in front of the trifecta of sexy and says, “So. Same time, same place tonight?”

And they answer with a flash of _red, yellow, blue._

* * *

36.

 **Warnings:** Sex while werewolfed  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Isaac

Stiles doesn’t know how he got here – pressed up against a tree in Beacon Hills Preserve, the bark scratching his skin as he presses his forehead against the wood and the moon shining down upon him. But then he feels Isaac’s claws extend, pricking against his hips, and his mind blanks as he tilts his hips and lets out a low moan.

“Isaac – Isaac, fuck…”

He’s met with a growl, Isaac’s nose nuzzling into the place where his neck and shoulder meet. His hips snap forward again, burying his cock deeper inside Stiles’ hole, and Stiles shakes.

“That’s so good,” he pants, turning his head to try and catch Isaac’s lips into a sloppy kiss. He has to be careful of his fangs, but the danger there, the little pricks he can feel against his lips, make his head spin.

“You like that?” Isaac whispers, a low rumble in his voice. It’s always deeper when he’s shifted, and Stiles feels his cock throb.

“God yes,” Stiles groans. “Love how you fuck me, god…”

“It’s okay. You can call me Isaac.” He can practically hear the smirk in Isaac’s voice, and Stiles makes a mental note to smack him later.

“Prick.”

“You love it.”

And then Isaac’s hips pick up the pace, fucking into him hard and fast, and Stiles is nodding breathlessly.

“I love it, I love it, fuck…”

They’ve done this enough now that Stiles knows how it all goes. He knows what it means when Isaac’s hips jerk, how close he is when he feels Isaac’s claws scrabble against the tree, tearing at the bark. He can hear the way his chest heaves, and Stiles pushes back with his hips, urging him on.

“More, c’mon,” he groans. One hand slides back to grip Isaac’s hip, trying to force him in deeper. “Come on, I’m so close… knot me, Isaac, oh god…”

Isaac swears, a low rumble right up against Stiles’ ear as his hips snap faster.

“Knot me, I need it… please! Please, Isaac, give it to me!”

“You need it?” Isaac breathes, and Stiles nods his head furiously.

“Need it, need you, need you so bad…”

And that’s when he feels it. He can feel the knot start to swell, his hole burning a little as it stretches. He moans again, fingers digging into the tree as he tries to take it all. Tries to fit as much of the thick knot inside him as he can, because he loves it. It’s Isaac’s, and it’s driving him crazy. Stiles’ cock is leaking, precome dripping onto the dirt at their feet, and he’s so close. He’s so damn close.

But he can’t come yet. Not until they’re locked together.

“Isaac, Isaac, Isaac…” Stiles moans. Isaac’s fingers rest at his throat and turn his head for a hot, sloppy kiss, shoving his hips in one more time and locking them together as he starts to come.

“Fuck,” Isaac mumbles against Stiles’ lips, and Stiles shudders. He can feel it, Isaac’s come filling him up, and all he needs are three pumps to his cock before he’s coming, too.

“Isaac,” he pants, his head spinning. “Isaac, oh my god…”

Isaac’s kisses slow a little. They become more gentle, easier, a little more tender each time.

“I’ve got you,” Isaac murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And, as always, Stiles knows that he does.

* * *

37.

**Warnings: Knotting**  
 **Pairing: Derek Hale/Chris Argent**

When Chris climbed into bed, Derek’s eyes flew open.

“Sleep,” Chris muttered. It wasn’t unusual for Derek to wake up when he joined him, though Chris was trained to be quiet enough to escape an inattentive werewolf’s senses. Like the hunter, Derek had lived a life that had made him reasonably paranoid.

When he settled in, he expected Derek’s hand on his arm or some such gesture, half sweet and half possessive, before the other returned to sleep.

Instead, Derek laid very still and then suddenly rolled over, hands coming down hard to either side of Chris’ head. At the rim of his dark brown eyes, Chris could see sparks of electric blue. He just barely stopped his reflex to reach for a knife.

“The hell you’re doing?”

“You wore Isaac’s sweater,” Derek said, voice thick with sleep and something more primal.

Chris stared at him, then glanced back to his clothes which were draped over the back of a chair. It had felt a bit large, that was true.

“Must’ve gotten mixed up in the laundry,” he said, disinterested, too ready to close his eyes. “So?”

Isaac did basically live with him and his daughter by this point, after all. Chris really would have liked to be more grumpy about the second-werewolf-boyfriend matter, but recent events made it hard to play the indignant father. Firstly, he actually liked Isaac and thought the kid could use an adult who at least made sure he had a roof over his head at night. Secondly, he’d been dating a werewolf himself for a couple of months which gave Allison a rather obvious argument to turn against him.

Derek leaned his face against the crook of his neck.

“You smell like him,” he growled.

Chris rolled his eyes as his weary mind clicked and he realised what Derek’s problem was. _Werewolves_.

“He’s sixteen and my daughter’s boyfriend. This is ridiculous,” Chris said.

“I know you’re not cheating on me,” Derek said, without backing off.

There was nothing logical about this, though, and Chris knew he could have argued ‘til doomsday and it wouldn’t have mattered. Already Derek was pressing his whole body against him and as exhausted and annoyed as Chris was, he couldn’t help but notice the friction of a muscular thigh between his and Derek’s tongue lapping at his throat like he planned to coat him in a whole new scent.

Because Chris was tired and Derek was on a mission, they didn’t waste time. It was rough kisses with Derek’s too-sharp teeth and where Chris was all grasping and scratching with blunt, broken nails, the werewolf’s hands touched more tender than usual so they wouldn’t cut. Chris noted the claws, tensing up with nerves, instincts that were hard to suppress, but shuddering with pleasure as Derek bit down a howling moan when Chris took his cock in hand and gave him quick, firm strokes.

It didn’t surprise Chris when Derek suddenly grabbed him the hips and unceremoniously dropped him on his stomach. He kicked at Derek’s shin in return, knowing he couldn’t truly hurt him. When Derek was in this kind of mood, what they did could only be described as rutting, fast-paced, with an edge of pain.

 

Chris came with his hips pushed into a pillow that he’d piled up under his waist so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable while they waited for the knot to swell down. Derek wouldn’t stop playing with his cock until Chris batted his hands away because he was beginning to be so sensitive it hurt. Derek mouthed against the back of his neck when he pushed himself over the edge. The hunter turned, twisting his neck to kiss him and Derek, as always, obliged, and so close after his orgasm there was something tender in his eyes that surprised Chris, frightened him more than the claws, made him a little happy.

They separated. Chris wiped the mess between his legs away with a tissue. Derek was still watching him, face human now, a little less alert.

“I’m waiting for the day you actually piss on me to mark your territory,” Chris drawled sarcastically.

“I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing,” Derek said with feigned interest.

Chris threw the blanket at his head before he fell back against the mattress. Derek’s hand rested on his wrist and he grasped it, pulled it down so their fingers were interlaced. There was a slight smile on Chris’ face as he turned off the light.

* * *

38.

 **Warnings:** Underage (canon ages), brief breathplay, under-negotiated kink  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Lydia

The life affirming, fairy tale sex was cute, the first time. Lydia certainly wasn't going to complain when Jackson wanted to spend an hour tenderly eating her out, anyway; it was what came afterward that was the problem. Lydia liked fucking, being used, sucking _just for his benefit_. Spending fifteen minutes trying not to fall asleep while he thrust slowly and gazed into her eyes was not Lydia's idea of a fun Saturday night. Still, she had saved his life with the power of true love the night before, so she'd been prepared to let it go until he tried a repeat performance for round two.

"You know what?" she said, conversationally. He pulled back from between her legs and made a quizzical noise. "This isn't working. Stop."

"You don't want me to go down on you?" He asked. His confusion would've been cute if her cunt weren't wide and wet with want. Lydia fisted her hand in the pillow and mentally counted to ten.

"No," she snapped as soon as she was done. "Yes, of course I do. But if I wanted this romantic crap, I'd date Stilinski."

The criticism sparked something in Jackson like it always did: the urge to prove himself burned in his eyes. Lydia had to hide a smirk; one more twist of the knife should do it.

"Did turning into a werewolf neuter you?"

Jackson snarled, his eyes flashing blue as he dove back between her legs. This time his tongue was rough, hitting her clit with every stroke until Lydia was squirming and trying to move up the bed to avoid the overstimulation. Jackson hooked his strong around her thighs and held her there until all she could do was scream with the force of her orgasm.

Before she could catch her breath Jackson was stealing the scream from her mouth. His fangs had sprouted without her noticing and now they shredded her lips until she tasted blood.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against her mouth. He was stroking her breasts, claws out, in a parody of his earlier tenderness. She jutted her chest forward into the touch and spread her legs wider.

"Yes, fuck, just get on with it already," she wailed. He didn't need a second invitation. When he thrust into her, up to his balls, Lydia felt her eyes cross. Was he bigger, like this? It felt like it. Despite her desperate arousal it still felt like too much to take.

It wasn't enough for Jackson. He grabbed her by the legs and bent her nearly in half to flip her into her stomach where he could thrust deeper and hold her underneath him with his forearm wrapped around her throat. His breath in her ear was hot.

"Fuck yourself on me," he whispered. Lydia struggled for a breath - between his arm and his weight she felt all the air had left her lungs - and pushed herself back. Each little movement of her hips was a struggle against Jackson's body, but they rubbed her over sensitive clit against her silk sheets until another orgasm built in the pit of her stomach. As if he could sense it, Jackson yanked her up by her neck and her hair until she was seated on top of him.

"You're mine. _I > make you come, when I want to."_

"Y-yes, Jackson!" But it was too late. The orgasm was already past the breaking point and Lydia teetered on the edge until it burst white-hot across her entire body.

By the time she could even open her eyes again, Jackson was pulling off the messy condom. He'd shifted back; when he met her gaze his eyes were an ordinary blue again.

"Was that what you wanted?" He asked with a cocky smirk. As usual with Jackson, there was a thick layer of insecurity under the surface.

"Mm," she said around a yawn. "Good dog."

* * *

39.

 **Warnings: Knotting/Marking/Swearing**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

Stiles always fascinate how werewolf works in sexual terms, he imagined of course it had to be wild, rough on the edge and just hot all around but he never thought how mind blowing it is.

The way Derek look at him as a bait it doesn’t make his skin crawl it make him more excited and just horny as hell as Derek approach him slowly sniff him like he’s a delicious food that just wait to be eaten the way he drag his hands all over him just intoxicating he just want to feel his touch, Stiles can feel Derek stubble against his thigh as Derek put his finger on Stiles mouth just to be suck like a good slut he is.

As Derek prepared him this part is what he excited most other than the marking on his neck to show Stiles is his and no others but also the knotting, the thought of it make him high of want of how the knot just expand on his tight hole with Derek whisper soothing words, “Fuck baby, you take my knot so good like you made for this even you can’t breed you just so perfect baby take all of me, yeah” as Derek slowly thrust on him and Stiles can feel how full he is with Derek knot it just overwhelmed but at the same time just indescribable.

At that point, Stiles just babbling with words of desperation to release how much a sarcastic shit he is, in bed he loves having Derek taking control once awhile and just fuck him good and shows him who’s the boss.

Stiles can already feel the mark on his neck, the swollen on his lips and the burns all over his body and he loves everything about it and when Derek knot subside Derek would pull always slowly looking at his cum leaking out his hole Stiles know the werewolf Derek is satisfied and he definitely don’t mind at all when Derek would lick around his hole, it shouldn’t make him more horny but he still a teenager with quick metabolism and to have a werewolf boyfriend is always a plus.

Even after the exhausting knotting sex, Derek always paid attention to the details of Stiles body just fascinate by the mole constellation on his body, he would lick and nip at Stiles skin causing Stiles to shiver and sigh in content it’s like Stiles overdose with Derek touch and he just want it more and never want Derek to stop ever, even Derek stops awhile he would let out a whine of loss of the contact and he know Derek would be smug about it how addicted Stiles is to Derek touch, Derek teeth on his, he could even go with a little of blood , at first Derek is not sure but Stiles assured him it just a tiny pinch and it does not effect him and he love everything about it feeling Derek sucking on his red skin because of how rough Derek being and it excite him so much just tangled up on Derek arms in the dark sometimes Derek would flash his eyes and that make it all real on how much he have a werewolf kink but most important he really loves Derek despite everything.

* * *

40.

 **Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

Stiles stretches out beneath him, moaning rich and low. His skin is salty sweet against Scott’s tongue, heated against his lips. Scott smiles as he presses another open mouthed kiss against the nubs of his spine. 

“Stop being so smug,” Stiles croaks out, voice more wrecked than anything else. Slow and sated too. Scott can’t help but feel just a little proud. Okay, very proud. Pride is a state of being for him now and he really doesn’t think it’s a vice.

“What makes you think I’m smug?” Scott whispers back, sounding just as husky. 

“I know you.”

He grins again and drags his teeth against Stiles’ shoulder blade. He loves the contrast of all of his body’s angles with his smooth softness. They perfectly mirror Stiles as a person, who so often is kind but not nice, joking but not funny, honest but not truthful. 

Scott takes a deep breath and attempts to ease away, but he’s still stuck fast. His knot catches at Stiles’ rim and the sensation is electric, his nerves singing with it. He imagines what it looks like, the tender pink push of muscle and skin. He shudders as he traces their connection with his fingertips, presses another series of kisses against Stiles’ vertebrae. Stiles clutches at his arm, but doesn’t sound pained in his grumbling.

“Not yet,” he says. “Not even if you could. I want you in me.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” Scott asks, mostly because he wants to hear the negative. 

Discovering that Stiles was as into this as he is was the best thing to happen to him in years. He didn’t think he’d get to know happiness again, something uncomplicated and freeing. It seems weird that this physical attachment, a physiological inability to pull away, can feel so much like an escape. In these moments he’s got more choice than in anything else in his life and he chooses to hold Stiles fast and never let go.

“You know I’m not,” Stiles says back, and Scott can hear his smile. “Feels too good.”

Stiles wriggles his hips in time with the ‘good’, has Scott hissing at the tug of skin on skin. He thinks he could come again and it’s only been half the time they’re usually joined, it should be impossible. They haven’t tried before. He bucks forward tentatively, drags his hand down to pull Stiles’ leg wider. Stiles rocks into it, lets out a choked laugh and something that could be the word ‘yeah’. Scott wants to kiss his mouth, but the angles are all wrong. They’ll have time for that later, when they’re finally disentangled, Stiles dragging his hands into his hair and wrenching him down; licking, sucking, biting at his lips. Stiles always gets wild with it and Scott likes that it isn’t calculated, that it’s correlation not causation, Stiles just always kisses like he’s on the edge of desperation.

Scott thrusts as steady as he can, incremental but so, so overwhelming, the clutch and hold of Stiles like everything he’s always been afraid to want. He reaches around and finds that Stiles is already hard and wet. It makes him groan, the sound reverberating between them. He wants to bring Stiles off, wants to bring him everything good he’s been given. 

They move together in perfect syncopation, until Scott can feel that Stiles is close. He works him harsher, faster, because that’s what Stiles needs. He’s tight and perfect around him, and Scott’s hips snap harder, his grinding more frenzied. 

Stiles stiffens, then trembles, come spurting all over Scott’s knuckles, sliding down between his fingers. He makes a sound like a whimper and Scott doesn’t think he can hold on for much longer, wants to hear that sound again and again. He braces his arms against Stiles’ sides and gentles during his aftershocks, sucking in deep, chest-wracking breaths.

“C’mon, Scotty,” Stiles urges, voice even lower and rougher than before. 

And that’s all it takes. Scott bites down on a shout and comes, pumping into Stiles, half of him insensible, the other half concentrating on thoughts of _mark, claim, mine_. Stiles stretches out beneath him and Scott thinks he could stay like this forever.

* * *

41.

 **Warnings: previously consented to rough sex**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

Stiles is zoning out in front of a documentary on gray wolves when a voice informs him, “We think of ourselves as wolves, but we’re actually more like humans when it comes to sex.”

Stiles only flails a little. He doesn’t even fling his cereal anywhere. He just calms down enough to ask, “I didn’t realize inviting you over meant you were going to barge in without even knocking.”

Derek levels an even look at him. Stiles clears his throat and starts again, “Not actually like wolves, huh?” Damn, he’d only turned it on for the noise.

“Werewolves, we’re not . . . _that_ much like wolves.”

“No dick bones than? You mate more often than every winter? No ‘copulatory tie?’”

“No Stiles, no knots or bones.” 

When Stiles pouts at him mockingly, Derek adds, dry, “But that does mean I can get hard before I stick my dick in things.”

Stiles almost chokes on his milk.

#

Stiles has been looking forward to days like today forever it seems. The passionate intercrural and frottage they’d been enjoying was great, but ever since Stiles felt comfortable enough to order his own sex toys, he’s been looking forward to all the anal he can get. His prostate is his friend.

Now that they’ve figured out what they like, both of them wanted to move into penetration. Stiles wants to stick things up his butt, and he wants Derek to be the one who puts those things there. Derek on the other hand . . . 

Derek is full of wonder and joy at their experimentation. In the bedroom, Stiles isn’t one for emotional games, just physicality and orgasms. He’s all about what feels good. This is a new approach to sex for Derek, and it is so good for him.

This is why Stiles is stepping out of the shower at 10 am intending to find out exactly what a werewolf cocksheath feels like on a werewolf. He can’t help but be excited because Derek’s enthusiasm is catchy. Stiles thinks it’s probably because it feels like a ‘safe’ choice for Derek, but whatever, he’s on board for Derek’s happiness.

Stiles had taken a lukewarm shower, trying not to worked up too soon. He can’t help but start to harden at seeing the toy wrapped around Derek’s cock and balls and Derek’s bashfulness at being ready so fast.

Stiles just grins widely and flings himself across the bed. He scrambles onto his knees and wiggles his ass. He says as saucily as he can, “Come on, Derek.”

He can hear Derek stifle a laugh. Stiles jumps a little when Derek’s big hands land on his ass cheeks, but settles down when Derek leans in close enough Stiles can feel his breath across his ass and upper thighs.

He melts into the bed at the first tentative lick and lets Derek lick out his ass. He can hear Derek get worked up behind him, panting with arousal. He can feel Derek stop to calm down a bit.

Stiles exhales, “Want to lube me up, big boy?”

Derek’s only answer is the snap of the tube opening.

Stiles is loose from playing with a plug last night, so he lubes up easily. It still takes freaking ages for Derek to line up and start gently rocking in. Derek easily sets a rhythm, but Stiles is looking forward to throwing him and his control through a loop.

The sheath is interesting, in a good way. It’s body warm and only slightly harder than Derek’s dick alone, and it’s a lot larger than most of Stiles’ toys. It makes the gentle thrusting almost hard to take, but Stiles just breathes out and takes it. Delicious.

When that steadiness gets monotonous, Stiles breaks out his new move. He backs up a bit and sits up. Stiles moves in for the kill, by stretching his arms up and snuggling in close.

Against the entire line of his collarbone, neck, upper arm and pit, Derek doesn’t stand a chance. Instead of climaxing, Derek snaps. He grips Stiles’ neck with one hand, forcing him down. Derek starts fully fucking into Stiles, and his panting has picked up into a low level growl.

Stiles can’t do anything but take it. He can’t get away from Derek, from the pounding, and he likes it. He is helplessly reamed into an orgasm. Derek stutters, peaks, and is done.

Derek collapses, half wolfed out on him, and cuddles. It’s a beautiful morning.

* * *

42.

**Warnings:** sibcest, xeno  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Cora/Derek

"I hear you're headed to Beacon Hills."

Stiles narrows his eyes at the stranger and the grey wolf by his side. "What's it to you?"

The man's unshaven, wild-looking. His pale eyes bore into Stiles as he slaps a wad of cash on the table. "Five thousand to take us there, and mind your business along the way." 

\--

"Sunset's in thirty minutes. Stop at the next motel."

Derek's given Stiles five thousand reasons to not ask questions, so he takes the nearest exit and finds a place that'll ignore the wolf they're traveling with.

Later when Stiles knocks on Derek's door to ask if he wants dinner, a woman answers with her bathrobe gaping enough to make Stiles blush. Before he can apologize for interrupting, she drags him into the room.

"You must be Stiles," she says. "I'm Cora."

Derek's not around, but his clothes from today litter the bed. In the corner of the room is a huge midnight-black wolf. "That's a different wolf."

"Aren't you a fucking genius." Cora flops on the bed, kicking Derek's clothes to the floor. "Come on, we can charge a bunch of movies to Derek's account."

"Cool," Stiles says, not entirely sure why the wolf is scowling at him.

\--

The next morning, Stiles wakes snuggled into the grey wolf's fur instead of Cora's shoulder; Derek's sitting across from him and looking pissier than usual.

When he apologizes for stealing time with Derek's one-night-stand, Derek snaps, "Cora's my sister."

\--

Next night, they're in a new city, new motel, when Cora barges into Stiles' room, the surly black wolf following behind. 

If they're all clearly traveling together, Stiles doesn't understand why she and her wolf don't just join them in the Jeep. He doesn't ask.  
When Stiles wakes again with his face buried in grey fur and Derek laid out naked in the place the black wolf had been, Stiles figures it out.

\--

 

"Our uncle cursed us," Derek says while they barrel down a deserted highway in the middle of New Mexico. He glances at Cora, who's sleeping in the back with her muzzle tucked under her paws.

\--

They only get one hotel room after that. All pretense dissolved, Stiles watches Derek strip off his clothes as dusk falls, stares in amazement as man becomes wolf and wolf becomes girl.

They marathon movies with Cora curled into Stiles' chest and Derek nestled between them, his head resting on their joined hips.

\--

As the world turns bright and dawn chases away the night, Cora clutches Derek's fur, tears in her eyes, like she refuses to let go. Inevitably, Cora's delicate fingers turn to paws in the same moment that the fur she's clinging to becomes naked skin. Deep, bloody scratches slice into Derek's shoulders. 

The marks fade in an instant -- as though Derek isn't permitted to keep her claim any more than he's allowed to see her face with human eyes.

\--

"The curse can only be broken if Cora and I appear in front of Peter, both as humans," Derek says, his eyes trained on the road. "It's impossible."

Always together, forever apart. 

"I'm going to Beacon Hills to kill my uncle," Derek whispers.

"Won't killing him make the curse permanent?"

"It's already permanent, Stiles. It's _hope_ that's killing us."

Chest aching with the weight of their loneliness, Stiles lets the conversation drop.

\--  
Slamming the newspaper down beside Derek's coffee, Stiles says, "Do you think?"

Derek reads the headline, eyes wide and dazed, as the solution presents itself like it's fated.

"Thank you," Derek says, tugging Stiles forward until their mouths crash together.

Stiles has to crank up the AC in the Jeep as thoughts of the kiss haunt him all afternoon. 

\--

Stiles hands Cora the newspaper clipping once the sun sets.

"This will work," she says, voice raw with emotion and certainty. She throws her arms around Stiles and kisses him with even more urgency than her brother had.

Stiles knows he's not what either of them want most, but as Cora rides him hard and fast and the black wolf noses between his legs and tongues what he can reach, it's hard to care. 

When he comes, Cora rolls off him, spreads her legs and lets her brother lick her clean. 

\--

At the appointed time, the siblings stand in the shadow cast by the solar eclipse, hand in hand before Peter, breaking the curse. In unison, they tear into him, mauling until they wear his blood like clothes.

* * *

43.

**Warnings:** Knotting, Mildly Dubious Consent  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Stiles

"Raising it up another fifty," Stiles said, smiling as he tossed the chips into the middle of the table.

Scott set his cards down in front of him. "I'm out."

"Me, too," Derek groaned. "You better have something good, Stiles."

Peter stared at Stiles, watching his every move since he announced his raise. "Must be. The question is just how good." Without taking his eyes off his fellow player, Peter picked up a stack of chips. "I'll raise you another two hundred."

Stiles managed not to wince at the amount, though he knew he couldn't match it. "I've only got ten more left."

"Does that mean I take it?" Peter asked with a grin.

"No," Stiles answered quickly. "I-- How about if I win, I have to do you a favor. Anything you want."

Peter smiled. "Anything, Stiles? You must be very confident in that hand of yours."

"Indeed, I am." Stiles nodded.

"Are you sure?" Derek asked, leaning over to whisper into Stiles's ear. "This is Peter. You know what he's going to ask."

"It's a sure thing," Stiles assured Derek.

"I doubt that, but I'm not going to argue. Just be sure you're willing to accept the consequences if you lose."

Stiles turned to face him. He didn't bother whispering his response because he knew Peter could hear anyway. "I'm confident enough that if this hand somehow loses, I probably deserve to give it up."

Derek shrugged and looked like he wanted to issue a further objection but instead shook his head and settled back into his chair.

"Okay, then," Peter said. "I'll give you the benefit of calling and raising me another fifty for that. So I'll call."

Stiles smiled and flipped over his cards. "Straight flush, hearts, nine to king."

"Damn," Scott said with a grin, reaching across the table to give Stiles a high five.

"I know, right?" Stiles asked, his smile widening.

Peter looked down at the cards for a moment and then up at stiles, his grin faded. "Incredible hand, Stiles," he said with a light night. "But it doesn't beat this." He revealed his own hand. "Royal flush in spades."

Stiles was no longer smiling and he could feel Derek tense up next to him.

"Deal's a deal, Stiles," Peter said, standing up from the table. "You two will leave us alone for a bit?" He looked at Scott and Stiles and then nodded toward the kitchen.

"I don't know that we should," Derek objected, rising his feet.

"No, it's okay," Stiles said. "I'll be fine."

Scott stood and put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "We'll be in the next room. Ten minutes?"

"Oh, come on," Peter groaned. "You better give us at least twenty."

Derek laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's a bit too generous, but whatever." He turned and left the room with Scott in tow.

Stiles walked over and leaned against the back of the sofa. "Sure this is going to be worth the money you could get instead?"

"Every penny," Peter answered as he walked over and stood in front of him. He spun Stiles around and reached down to undo his belt and unzip his jeans. "I don't want to hurt you, so you'll tell me if I need to slow down or anything?"

"Oh, believe me, you'll know." Stiles slid his pants and boxers off his hips and let them fall to the floor. He heard Peter undo his own jeans and gasped when he felt warm flesh against his hole. Peter pressed in slowly, Stiles's ass willingly letting him in.

"Fuck," Stiles whispered, his back arching as Peter pushed further inside.

Peter stopped for a moment when he was all the way in. "You feel incredible, Sti--"

Stiles felt his entire body tense and his ass clenched around Peter's cock, which at the same time he was sure grew even bigger. "Holy fu-- What was that?"

Peter didn't answer but just started fucking him in small, rapid thrusts. A few minutes later, they both tensed again and groaned in unison as they came - Stiles against the back of the sofa and Peter into his ass.

"Fuck," Peter said after a moment. "I never knew you were an Omega, Stiles. It's be a long time since someone took my knot."

Stiles turned toward Peter, who was still in place behind him, and shot him a confused look. "I don't know what that means, but that was the best sex I've ever had."

* * *

44.

**Warnings:** Knotting  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  


“Stiles,” Marcos began, looking down at the paperwork in front of him. “You understand what signing this will mean?” He pushed the pages over so that the omega sitting across from him could sign, flicking a glance at the worried father sitting beside the teen. 

Sheriff Stilinski let out a soft noise of distress. “You don’t have to do this, Stiles. You’re barely eighteen and if claimed, you’ll likely have a baby from this.” He took one of his son’s hands in his own. “You have so many other choices; so much we can do before you have to resort to this.” 

Stiles looked at his father and shook his head. “This _**is >** my choice, Dad. I need to do this and if I’m sent home in six months, I promise I’ll go off to college and take my suppressants until I’ve graduated. Just, I want to try.” _

The sheriff signed, nodded and let go. It was the last time he’d get to touch or see his son for the next six months. 

~~

Stiles writhed, sweating and aching with sexual hunger. He wanted, he needed and for the fifth month in a row it seemed he would be without an alpha. The scents and sounds of mating flooded his senses. It was torture to be surrounded by it, but the layout of the room made it easier for the Alpha’s to scent out which omega they wanted without having to move from room to room. When Marcos, the center’s mate specialist, cleared his throat near Stiles, Stiles moaned low and pulled futilely at the bonds that kept him in place over the foam wedge. He was laid out for an Alpha, body spread out and pinned in place, but Marcos meant only one thing...he’d lost out again. 

“Alpha Hale,” Marcos continued. “Stiles is our only unclaimed omega this month. This is his fifth heat cycle with us. Or, we can offer a selection of betas.” 

The low grunt behind Stiles left him with his cheeks flushing bright red and a desperate tear leaking down his face. He rubbed his cheek against the foam in embarrassment. 

“You may go, Marcos,” Alpha Hale said with a deep, raspy voice laced with annoyance. “I am familiar with the center and its services.” Stiles could feel the warmth of the Alpha’s body near him. He arched, body responding to the heady flood of pheromones. When Alpha Hale touched his back, Stiles sobbed aloud. Touch was forbidden unless mating was planned. 

Stiles tried to push back into the touch, to show how welcome it was, but Alpha Hale merely stroked lightly over his skin. A second hand joined the first and they slowly soothed the more immediate cravings. “Please,” Stiles moaned, eliciting a groan from the Alpha. 

“How old are you?” Alpha Hale asked. “Are you prepared for what will come if this is successful.” 

“Yes,” Stiles moaned. “Yes, I’m eighteen. I know what I want.” He arched his back, presenting himself. 

Alpha Hale appeared to trust Stiles’ word when Stiles could hear the man’s robe drop to the ground. Alpha Hale began marking Stiles with his scent, rubbing his cheek from Stiles’ lower back to his head before strong, hard hands grasped his hips and then Stiles was steadily and firmly filled by the Alpha’s hard cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles slurred out, his entire body going limp. None of his beta experiences prepared him for an Alpha. He clenched around Hale, hands fisting next to his face when Hale thrust hard and fast inside him. Stiles’ body welcomed every inch of the Alpha, lubricating Hale’s way with each thrust until he slammed in hard one final time. The Alpha’s knot swelled, Stiles’ body opening and accommodating him without a problem even if Stiles suddenly felt breathless and fuller than he’d imagined. 

Stiles groaned again, his orgasm slamming through him, cock spurting without a touch when he felt his body flood with Hale’s come. For the first time, Stiles could actually see that this might be his new reality. This man could become his mate, his Alpha and Stiles just might bear his children. Stiles’s shuddered again and turned his face to rub their cheeks together. “I hope you just gave me a baby, Alpha,” he whispered, feeling the man above him shudder and drop closer to Stiles’ back. 

“So do I,” Alpha Hale breathed out. “I may never let you out of my bed again.” 

* * *

45.

**Warnings:** knotting, heatfic, medical examination  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

He's expecting Deaton, he's _used_ to Deaton. It's still awkward, but at least he's known Deaton since he lost his milk teeth.

Yet, in walks another doctor instead. 

It's the heat. It leaves him shivering one minute, dripping sweat another. It makes his claws ache, his fangs heavy and sensitive in his mouth.

It makes this new doctor smell _so good_ when he pushes into the exam room, whistling to himself. 

"Hale?" the guy asks, looking up, eyes warm and friendly. 

Derek stares at him, grinds out "Where's Doctor Deaton?"

"Emergency call. I'm Dr. Stilinski," the guy says, already briskly rolling up his sleeves, going to wash his hands. 

"Oh," Derek says weakly. 

"Can you turn over, please? This will only take a minute," Dr. Stilinski says, snapping on gloves. 

Derek turns onto his elbows and knees on the table, buries his face in his arm. _This will only take a minute_ isn't reassuring to a Were in heat. 

Voice gentle, Dr. Stilinski says "I'm going to raise your gown. Tell me if you get cold."

"Yeah," Derek mumbles, face hot as the young doctor exposes his ass.

"Can you...spread your--" Dr. Stilinski asks tentatively. Derek bites his lip, parts his hairy thighs.

"There you go," Dr. Stilinski murmurs. "I heated the gel earlier--" but Derek still jerks as two, gloved fingertips stroke right at his hole.

"Here it comes. Tell me if I miss? I've only done a few of these," Dr. Stilinski says and then Derek's whole body is _lost_ in it, in _hot, tight_ as Dr. Stilinski spreads his heat-wanton hole. 

 

"You ok? Your skin's so hot, you could be steaming," Dr. Stilinski says. 

Derek whines on the table, these pitchy little whines, keening like a dog. He always does, but it's worse with Dr. Stilinski. Derek's wolf is _whorish_ for him, hips locking high in lordosis, trembling there while he noises into his arm helplessly. Dr. Stilinski goes quiet while he works his fingers in and out, probing carefully, crooking and touching deep like he's looking for it. He's not as skilled as Deaton, so he ends up fingering Derek for much longer, searching. It's such a fucking tease, Derek's whines grow more desperate, his hips twitching like he wants to help guide him.

Finally, he hisses " _please, doctor_ ," ashamed of his impatience. Dr. Stilinski sighs gustily and there it is, sweet and tender inside, his prostate all plump with mating hormones. 

Derek makes a sound like agony as Dr. Stilinski murmurs "there it is. There you are."

And then he goes right to soothing it. 

Where Deaton usually _hammers_ at it, with the same pressure and speed, Dr. Stilinski _makes love_ to it. Small, deep nuzzles like he wants to get to know it. Then sweet, slow rubs that make Derek's hips start circling, moving to meet him. It's filthy-hot and thorough, the kind of pleasure you get from mating, not from manual stim. 

"I can't, you have to stop--" Dr. Stilinski says and then Derek's swiveling hip is being stilled by a firm hand. Derek's eyes roll back in his head because _yessss_ , hold him. _Own_ him. 

He's pinned, petted warmly inside until he's crooning through his fangs, his cock starting to quiver, fatten.

"That's it, you're almost there," Dr. Stilinski soothes him through it, voice so kind.

"Oh god, I'm. I'm going to knot--" Derek whines. His dick _aches_ in that flush right before-- 

"Jesus, look at you. You'll be huge--" Dr. Stilinski blurts out. 

It makes Derek's hips wrench up, makes them lift _sharply_ into lordosis again, nipping the fingers inside him, _catching_ them.

"Oh my god," the doctor whispers. 

Derek's knot _surges_ so suddenly his eyesight greys over. 

"Ohhhh my _god_ ," Dr. Stilinski gasps and uses his cool, gloved hand to console Derek's knot as it pulses thicker and _thicker_ , jerking heavily between his legs. 

Derek snarls, snicks his fangs into the table pad instinctively, mating it. 

For a long time, Derek just trembles there, fangs locked while pacifying fingers rub-out his prostate and weigh his knot experimentally, appreciating his body.

"Your knot is so warm--" the doctor marvels and Derek screws up his face and comes.

* * *

46.

**Warnings: Canonical character death**  
 **Pairing: Scott/Allison (implied)**

He feels it under his skin, like a crawling ache that he can’t shake. Like he’s spent too much time not moving, and now his muscles have to stand up and stretch and run. He feels it roiling underneath the surface, driving him to distraction, making his palms sweat and itch. The door is loud when he slams it shut, the sound echoing into a roar. He turns the lock, nearly breaks it off in his hand, and tears his jacket off. It falls somewhere with a soft thump, but he’s too busy scrambling to remove the rest of his clothes to notice.

His t-shirt is well worn and soft from innumerable washes, but the material stings as it slides across his skin. He growls, fangs cutting into his lip, and tosses it away, then pops the button of his jeans and groans. The denim scrapes against his skin, leaving goosebumps across his body. He’s not wearing any underwear, and his cock is already hardening, lifting from his thigh. His claws prick against his skin, and he has to fight back the shift. His nails are human when he takes himself into his fist. The skin of his palm is rough, calloused. It burns, too dry and too tight, but it feels good, and he arches into it. There’s precome gathering at the head, and he spreads it around with his thumb. He lets a claw out, traces it around the flared head, feels it into his bones. It aches just right, just how he needs it.

The tension is rising, making his skin ripple. His fangs are out, his face is shifted, and as he slowly jacks himself off, he feels the base of his dick swelling. His hand won’t go all the way down anymore, the tight clench of his fingers suddenly, achingly tighter. He groans into it, pressing against his hand, and he suddenly can’t control the thrust of his hips. He imagines that he’s pressing into the warmth of someone else, rather than his own hand. Imagines that he’s claiming his mate, marking them with teeth and tongue. He groans, hips thrusting. There’s a muscled back, dark hair, soft skin, spread out before his mental eye in a wanton display. Sweat pools on his neck, rolling down his back and settling in his spine. His knot pushes against his hand, breaches the tightness of his fingers, and he’s suddenly, painfully coming. There are thick white stripes of come covering his hand and the floor, but he doesn’t care. He squeezes his knot, tightens his grip to a point that’s too much, too tight, but it leaves him with a bone-deep sense of completion. It nearly puts him on his knees, but he locks his legs, locks his hand, lets it roll over him in waves. As he comes in sharp pulses, he squeezes. There’s a rhythm to it, one learned from years of practice and self-discovery. He sighs, the ache easing, soothed at least temporarily. He stands there in the center of his apartment, hand tight around his cock, and breathes, forgetting for just a moment why he has to do this at all.

He washes his hands, still naked, then gathers the discarded clothes from the floor. He tosses them in the hamper in his bedroom. He tries not to, but he finds himself opening his dresser drawer, sliding out a well-worn slip of photo paper. There are four pictures on it, faded from the years. Allison’s grin is bright and full of life, and he feels the corner of his mouth lift unconsciously. His heart aches, feels like it’s spent too little time moving, and now it has to beat and move and run.

He wonders if it ever will.

* * *

47.

**Warnings:** Xeno/beastiality  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Scott/Stiles

When You Go Out in the Woods Today...

The woods around the old Hale house were quiet as Stiles made his way to the clearing Derek and Scott had taken to using as a training space for full wolf transformations. As a True Alpha, Scott had the power. He should be able to accomplish it. Derek and Deaton both believed it was possible...months ago.

It had been pretty slow going. Scott just couldn’t seem to _get it_ , and it was frustrating for them both. It disheartened Stiles, too, to see them so down about it all. 

The disappointment had become such a common occurrence that Stiles fully expected to find them as he always did, Derek comforting Scott and insisting that he would get it next time. What he did _not_ expect to find was Derek in his beta form, on his hands and knees in the middle of the clearing, moaning, and mounted by a large, dark brown wolf. 

Surprised, it took him a minute to realize what he was seeing. As Derek moaned Scott’s name, all the blood in Stiles’ body rushed to his dick; and suddenly he was harder than he’d been in his _life_. He’d fantasized about this: fucking or being fucked by one or both of them in their wolf forms. It’s not something he talked about often, normally late at night, after some heavy drinking. 

Stiles palmed himself through his jeans as he stepped into the clearing. A strangled whimper worked its way up his throat, catching the wolves’ attention. Their heads snapped around, glowing eyes freezing him in his tracks. Scott’s eyes glowed bright red and he panted happily as his hips slowed their rutting.

Derek whined as Scott climbed off of him, scenting the air as he stalked the short distance to Stiles. He yipped, bowing over his front legs and pawing the ground before sitting in front of Stiles, his tongue hanging out in a wolfy grin. 

“You did it,” Stiles said with a smile, reaching out to scratch Scott behind his ears. Scott leaned into the touch, continuing forward until his nose rested right up against Stiles’ erection. Scott inhaled deeply and rubbed up and down his hard length, making Stiles gasp and whine, rocking his hips into the sensation.

“Stiles,” Derek moaned from behind them. “Stiles, Scott. Need -- Need you now.”

Looking up from where Scott was nuzzling him through his pants, Stiles had to step away and grasp himself firmly to keep from coming at the sight of Derek, on his back on the forest floor with his dick in his hand and two fingers up his ass. 

Stiles looked down at Scott, grabbing him by the scruff and turning him towards Derek. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “Yeah. That! Scotty -- Yes, that, please!”

Scott stalked his way back to Derek, his gait predatory. Standing over his, Scott ran his tongue up the length of Derek’s dick before bending down to lick and nose at his hole. Stiles stripped as he walked over, kneeling down next to Derek and catching his lips in a wet, filthy kiss. Scott backed up so Stiles could straddle Derek’s hips, rubbing their dicks together as he kissed and licked his way down Derek’s neck. 

“In,” Derek gasped. “Need you in -- please!”

Stiles was happy to oblige, lining himself up and sliding deep in one long, easy glide. All he could think as he settled into Derek’s inviting heat was _Thank God for travel lube packets._ They all carried at least one, and he couldn’t be more grateful for that habit.

Stiles snapped his hips hard against Derek’s ass, opening his thighs up and out in an attempt to get closer, deeper. He licked and nipped his way across Derek’s collarbones, then arched his back with a cry at the warm, wet feel of Scott’s tongue against his hole. 

“Do it,” he gasped, draping himself over Derek. “Scott. Mount me. Do it!”

The sound that came out of him as the smooth, pointed tip of Scott’s penis slid into him was indescribable. They paused for a few seconds, and then they were off, creating a punishing rhythm between them as Derek jacked himself off beneath them. The clearing rang with the sounds of slapping flesh, growls and groans, and punched out breaths as they chased their orgasms, and when they came, it rang with the howls of satisfied wolves and the cries of a deeply sated human.

* * *

48.

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**  
 **Warnings: dub-con, implied drugged sex, scenting, rimming**

The moonlight seeping through the narrow windows cast the basement into shadow. It took Stiles a second to find Derek, crouched in the corner of an iron cage, wolfed out. He was naked, Stiles realized. And hard. So hard. Stiles swallowed, licked his lips, tried hard to look anywhere but at the angry, red curve of Derek's cock.

"Whoah!" said Stiles. "Um, hello to you, too." He swallowed, darting a quick glance back to the cage. Only the cage. Not the naked werewolf inside it. Nervously, Stiles stepped closer. Derek's eyes tracked his every movement, predatory.

Even a beta could rip through iron like butter, but Derek was making no move to free himself. He crouched low in the corner of the cage, pre-come leaking steadily onto his abs. Blushing hot, Stiles tore his gaze to the floor. That's how he noticed the thin line of mountain ash surrounding the perimeter of the cage.

Stiles's common sense was screaming at him to run, get Scott, let him deal with this. But Stiles had never been on particularly good terms with his common sense.

"Okay," he said. "I'll let you out, and you're going to remember that you don't actually hate me. Sound like a plan?"

"Don't," Derek grated, sounding like he hadn't spoken in weeks. He swallowed, tried again, wolfed-out face looking so _sincere_. "Don't hate you."

"Whatever Kate gave you, it must be the good stuff," Stiles said, and scuffed his toe through the ash.

The sound of bending metal echoed through the basement. Then Derek was shoving his face into Stiles's neck, the stubble scraping the sensitive skin. He inhaled, lips brushing over the pulse point, soft and surprisingly gentle. Stiles's dick gave an interested twitch in his pants.

"Derek?" Stiles ventured, touching his naked shoulder. He was trying so, so hard to ignore the hard dick bumping up against his denim-clad hip.

Derek shuddered against him, nosing into the skin behind Stiles's ear. "Stiles," he groaned. His hands were on Stiles's waist, rough and insistent. A second later, Stiles's knees hit the floor, hard. Clawed fingers caught in his jeans, shredding the denim over his ass and the backs of his thighs.

"Derek!" Stiles yelped. "What are you--?"

Strong hands gripped Stiles's ass cheeks, spreading them apart. Stiles flinched, bracing himself. He squeaked when Derek's hot breath gusted over his hole, followed by the fever-hot slide of a tongue.

Stiles leaned his forehead against the cool, concrete floor, panting. Derek was going to town on his ass like it was a fucking delicacy, making rough, hungry little noises as he worked his tongue deeper and deeper into inside, gripping Stiles's hips so he couldn't squirm away. Every flick of tongue and drag of stubble over sensitive skin went straight to Stiles's dick. He gasped and panted, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was here, ass open and dripping. Despite himself, he found himself bucking back into Derek's mouth, spreading his legs even wider.

Dimly, through his own startled whimpers and Derek's throaty grunts, Stiles heard the familiar slap of flesh on flesh behind him. He strained his neck to glance over his shoulder, saw Derek's clawed hand working over his own cock.

"Holy shit!" Stiles gasped, and fumbled for the fly of his jeans, still, ridiculously, intact, for all that Derek had his ass laid out like a five-course meal. He'd barely gotten his hand around his cock before he was coming, hard, shuddering and groaning between Derek's tongue and his own, impatient fist.

Derek made a startled sound against his ass, then flipped Stiles over, staring down at his spent, come-slicked dick with a hungry gaze. His hand sped up, stripping his cock with brutal efficiency until the long ropes of his own come were mingling with Stiles's. Derek dragged his face through the mess, licking his way up Stiles's torso. He finally settled, mouth open on Stiles's collarbone, not biting, just resting his fangs against Stiles's skin.

"What the fuck was that?" Stiles gasped, reaching blindly to pet at Derek's face. He combed his fingers through the ridiculous sideburns. Derek turned, nuzzling into the touch, then froze.

He tapped the tip of his claw against each of Stiles's fingers in turn. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"You're real," Derek choked. Horror and self-loathing filled his eyes. He stumbled away from Stiles, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

Stiles stared at his own hand in bemusement, then shrugged, reaching for Derek's shoulder. "I'm not," he said.

* * *

49.

**Warnings: Vaginal knotting, knotting, unsafe sex, non-negotiated kinks.**  
 **Pairing: Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura**

Kira quietly screams when she comes, and Scott thinks he’s in love with the sound of it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Kira gasps as she shakes on top of him, hips spasming as her orgasm continues to take her. Scott's mouth is open and he can barely understand a word she says, lost in the feeling of Kira's wet cunt gripping his cock tighter with each pulse, and its a miracle he even responds.

"S-sorry?" He groans, feet planting in the bed as he thrusts his hips up and grinds hard. Kira is _so tight_. Its edging on painful, but it feels _so good_. Scott briefly wonders (very, _very_ briefly; any guy wouldn't be able to think with Kira's pussy around them) if Kira is one of those girls able to come for minutes at a time.

"Oh fuck, _oh Scott your claws_ ," she whines instead of explaining, her short nails scratching down his chest, and Scott smells her arousal, her desperate want as Scott's claws unknowingly pinprick her hip and thigh. He drags them in hazy fascination, watching the red welts rise, and Kira practically sobs above him, pumping his cock in short thrusts.

Kira is still so tight. Without warning, the werewolf rolls them, still in her. She arches against him as he fucks her fast, shallow.

"Jesus Christ Kira, what are you sorry about?" Scott asks breathlessly.

"I- my--" she stammers quietly. “I should have said, but, _oh ohh_ , I didn’t-- I didn’t _think_ \--”

“Kira,” he pants in between thrusts, “one of us…needs to speak…clearly, and I can’t even _think_ right now. _Cogeme_ , how are you so tight?”

Kira whimpers. “I knot, Scott.”

Scott pauses for a short moment, blinking down at her as her statement clears his haze.

“Knot,” he repeats, deadpanned. Kira is red with arousal and mortification, and Scott ducks his head between her perky breasts, laughing quietly. The scent of her embarrassment rises and Scott thinks, _no, we can’t have that._ He resumes fucking her, more of a tight, deep grind, taking her slowly now. Almost immediately pleasure overrides, her pulse rabbiting.

“I knew we forgot a conversation,” he teases her. Kira blinks at him, confusion on her face. “Surprise, _knotting_ \--”

“ _Sorry_ \--”

“When I come in you, I’m going to knot,” Scott says without preamble, smirking at her wide eyes, “and I’m going to fuck you with my knot.”

Kira shivers, mouth agape, as she humps against him, rubbing her clit at each downwards circle. “ _Scott_ , yes _please_ …!”

“Do you knot each time you come?” he asks, voice rasping with arousal, and Kira writhes under him, nodding frantically. She’s getting close again, Scott smells, and he props himself on an arm. He bends and lalves at a hard nipple, his claws drawing circles around the other; it puckers, goosebumps appearing over Kira’s skin. She sighs, her hand winding in his hair.

He surprises her by three, quick-hard thrusts, growling, “I want to feel you knot around me again, such a sweet vixen.”

Kira cries out, and her slick, hot cunt swells tighter around his cock, and the suddenness of her orgasm leaves Scott tiptoed at the edge. He breathes shakily, whining in the back of his throat when the kitsune scratches down his back. Sharp clicks of static crackle where she touches and Scott shudders, thinks they will need to talk more than just their ability to knot.

“Your knot,” she whimpers. “Please, _please_ I want your knot, come in me, fill me up, fuck me, _irete kudasai_.”

Scott fucks into her twice, until he begins to knot and it catches against the swollen walls of Kira’s cunt, growling as he comes. He’s gripping her hips tight against his, stuttering and his cock pulsing in his release. Kira arches, canting toward him to bring him deeper.

“Fuck,” she breathes, twisting her hips again and again, making Scott grip her tighter, her walls clenching around his knot so sweet, and she giggles. “That feels good,” she says as he’s still coming in her.

It takes Scott a couple minutes before he’s able to think, and he has to clear his throat. “How did you find out?”

“Fucking myself on my fingers or one of my toys. No matter the size I came on, it would try to keep it in. Was pretty sure I was screwed for my first boyfriend.”

“Well, now its literal,” Scott grins, eyes flashing red. “God. That was amazing.” He leans forward, scenting her pleased aroma. Its sweet and happy.

* * *

50.

**Warnings: n/a**  
 **Pairing: Isaac/Pack (a bit of Sterek)**  
Isaac doesn’t know how to explain this desire which rears its head every few months. Actually, desire is the wrong word. He needs to be held down and fucked by his pack mates after a couple of weeks.

Isaac doesn’t know how to explain it but he knows it’s not anything to do with his werewolf side. After a long, awkward talk with Derek and Boyd, Isaac knows it’s not any omega instinct or anything like heat. So it has to be all him right? And not the wolf in him?

But that doesn’t explain the pure feeling of satisfaction which rolls through him when he’s being pushed down on all fours, obediently following the instructions being given to him. His wolf preens and writhes every time when he’s praised, loving being the center of everyone’s attention.

Right now, Isaac feels the wolf whining inside of him. He lets the noise come out, low but so needy. Boyd doesn’t stop fucking him but he does soften his grip pinning Isaac’s wrists to the bed. It’s Scott and Allison who move in, shushing and petting his face and chest in equal parts before trying to kiss him silent. 

Isaac whines harder because it hurts. Boyd is always relentless when he fucks Isaac. He always knows just how Isaac wants it. Which is why Isaac likes him to follow Scott. Scott is a different kind of relentless, determined to kill Isaac through gentle but deep orgasms. He helps build this urge up in Isaac, the desire to be fucked until he hurts (something Boyd is so very good at).

Allison runs a hand through his sweaty hair, her own long hair tumbling over a bare shoulder. “Do you want more Isaac?” She asks gently, cool fingertips stroking over his flushed cheeks. 

He inhales a shuddering breath, peering up through wet lashes before moaning, “Yes.” 

He always wants more. He wants more than the scent of his pack on him. The most he can do is to beg to have every drop of cum shoved back into him by loving fingers before sobbing happily when someone works a plug into his sore hole, wishing desperately that knotting was a thing. Isaac wishes and tries so hard to keep the bruises and claw marks on him but they always fade away. And Derek’s always careful not to claw him. Unless of course Isaac begs sweetly. 

He turns his head to the side, wanting to see Derek. The alpha is sitting in his usual seat by the bed, legs spread wide enough to easily accommodate Stiles’ broad shoulders. Derek’s got one hand resting lazily on top of the human’s bobbing head but his attention is centered on Isaac. 

Knowing he’s got all of Derek’s attention makes Isaac want to howl. He changes it into a surprised high noise when Erica’s sly fingers sneak in under Allison’s arm to tweak his sensitive nipples. “He always sounds so good.” Erica muses, chin resting comfortably on the brunette’s shoulder before asking wickedly, “Hey Boyd, think you can make him scream harder?”

Boyd’s response is to fucking jackhammer into Isaac, making him yelp and moan louder than ever before. He can feel his awareness splintering, every thrust and touch causing the cracks to spread wider and wider until Isaac feels like he’s floating. Distantly he’s aware of Derek and Stiles joining the rest of them on the bed, getting a chance to breathe when Boyd pulls away.

Isaac’s trying to remember why oxygen is important for him when many hands help him lie down on his side. There’s two pairs of soft hands massaging his sore wrists (Erica and Scott), curious fingers sliding in and out of his puffy hole (Stiles maybe) and from a distance, Derek is calling his name.

"Isaac? Are you okay?" Derek asks, the back of his fingers gently slapping against Isaac’s hot face. Isaac nods, feeling so empty the second Stiles pulls his fingers out. "Can you take two?" Derek asks.

"Who?" Isaac rasps.

"Stiles and Erica." 

Stiles who loves to bite and Erica who loves to leave scratches on his hips as she fucks into him with their favorite black strap-on. The thought of taking both of them at the same time has Isaac moaning and leaning into Derek’s hand, nodding fervently before begging, “Please. Yes, please, yes.”

This time, when Stiles and Erica slide all the way into him and his wolf howls inside his chest? Isaac howls with it.

* * *

51.

**Warnings:** Bondage  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Derek Hale

Derek Hale was never meant to be an alpha.

The more they worked together defending Beacon Hills against the onslaught of supernatural creatures, the more Chris could see it—the way Derek responded to praise, to a pat on the back, or to a simple command that Chris asked of him.

Derek was still an omega. He never quite accepted Scott as his alpha, not in the way Derek needed an alpha. But Derek _did_ seem to accept Chris.

It was just fooling around at first, a way to blow off steam. They were both lonely and felt isolated in Beacon Hills, so they fucked sometimes. It was a friends with benefits arrangement, but Chris knew he could give Derek more. He knew he could give Derek what he craved, what he really needed.

When the full moon came, Chris was ready. He invited Derek over under the guise of a case they were helping the Sheriff with. As soon as Derek walked in the door, Chris was on him, tugging off his jacket and ripping off his t-shirt.

“I thought you had a lead on the Trickster.” Derek gasped as Chris reached a hand down Derek's jeans.

“I do. He went to San Bernardino. Not our problem anymore,” Chris replied, before shoving his tongue into Derek's mouth.

Derek, ever the martyr, pulled away. “You know it's the full moon. I might lose control.”

“It's a good thing I have ropes ready then.” Chris turned and headed toward his bedroom.

“Wait. Are you serious?” Derek called after Chris.

“See for yourself,” Chris said as Derek followed him into the bedroom.

Tied to Chris' bedposts were four thick ropes.

“I dipped them in a mild wolfsbane solution, so they won't hurt unless you struggle against them. If you'll let me?”

Derek only nodded slowly with wide eyes, which Chris took as a good sign. He let Derek undress, although he was itching to do it for him.

“On the bed. On your back.” Chris tried to sound casual as he took off his shoes.

Derek obeyed without protest. Like Chris knew he would. 

Chris tied Derek's wrists and his ankles to the bedposts until Derek was spread out wide. His cock was already hard against his belly. He _could_ get out if he really wanted, the wolfsbane was only enough to be a little uncomfortable. Chris could see Derek was already fighting against the change the wolfsbane tried to induce.

“Relax. You can tell me to stop at any time.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't hurt me. You're secure here.”

Chris wasn't worried about himself. He just didn't want to hurt Derek. He'd been hurt enough for a series of lifetimes. 

He ran his hands down Derek's chest, raking through his chest hair, teasing his nipples. Then he went lower. He pushed a slicked finger inside Derek, drawing a quiet whimper out of him. Chris hadn't done this in years, opening up another man.

“I just want you to let go,” he murmured.

And Derek did. His claws came out first, then his sideburns. He turned in toward the pillow, trying to hide.

“It's just you and me here, Derek. Look at me.”

It took him a minute, but then Derek turned to meet Chris' gaze. With eyes locked, Chris pushed a second finger in, feeling Derek clench down as he pressed against Derek's prostate. Derek let out a low growl as his eyes flashed blue.

“Stay still. Let me take care of you.”

He wrapped his lips around the head of Derek's cock and sank down. Then he pulled up and went back down, taking Derek's cock deep in his throat, his nose brushing Derek's pubic hair. He put a hand on Derek's abdomen, feeling it clench as Derek fought the urge to thrust up, but Derek obeyed Chris' command.

Chris thrust his fingers in as he sucked down and rubbed Derek's prostate as he came back up. Over and over he worked, letting the rhythm lull Derek into a peaceful headspace. 

When Derek was close, Chris pulled off enough to say, “Come.”

With a twist of Chris' fingers, Derek's whole body released its tension. His legs and arms trembled afterward, until finally he looked peaceful.

Moonlight streamed in through the window and illuminated Derek's body. It was the first time Chris had ever seen Derek in his wolf form relaxed.

* * *

52.

**Warnings: Knotting, sex while in beta form**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

Laughter echoes through the forest, dead leaves crinkling underfoot as dozens of bodies swarm the trees. The air cools and the sun sets; darkness brings with it a sense of anticipation. Derek stands at the edge of the clearing that holds his family home with the other wolves his mother invited.

A light breeze blows past them, bringing with it a mix of scents. Growls rise up from all sides, impatient and wanting, and Derek feels one rise in his own throat; he’s caught whiff of a scent that sends thrills down his spine.

He inches forward toward the trees, only stopping when his mother snarls in warning. He stops, rolling his shoulders back. His wolf itches just under his skin, clawing for control, but he holds back.

_Just a little longer._

Finally, he sees it; the full moon peeking up over the trees. A howl breaks the silence and Derek takes off into the dark forest with the other wolves.

The moon has risen and now the chase begins.

*

Derek lets his instincts take control, shifting seamlessly from human to beta between one breath and the neck. He pauses just feet into the forest, lifting his nose into the air to search for that scent again.

When he catches it, he howls.

*

The scent leads to a boy in a red hood. He blinks at Derek in surprise but doesn’t resist when Derek crowds him. They fall to the forest floor together, rolling among the leaves. The boy’s legs fall open and Derek fits himself between them, growling in pleasure when he feels feet hook around his thighs, holding him in place.

“ _Mine,_ ” he snarls and the boy’s delicious scent floods with arousal.

*

Their clothes are strewn around them in tattered remains. Derek doesn’t know what they’ll do come morning and he doesn’t care; not when he’s buried deep within the heat of his mate’s body.

Derek snaps his hips forward, harsher than he intended, and his mate gasps, digging his nails into the meat of Derek’s back.

“Again,” he demands and groaning, Derek complies.

Their coupling is rough. Derek used to think he would be gentle; that he would take his time when he finally found his mate. He supposes there’s time for that later. Now, the moon’s pull and his mate’s impatience shreds his control until all he can do is _take_ what is given willingly.

*

His mate is loudest when Derek’s knot swells within him, crying out in surprise and pleasure and just a hint of pain. Derek shushes him, soothes him, wondering if perhaps it’s too much.

He knows the opposite is true when his mate’s comes at the first touch of Derek’s hand.

*

“What’s your name?” He feels ashamed for not asking before but his mate doesn’t seem too upset.

“Stiles,” is the reply.

“I’m Derek.”

Stiles smiles shyly. “I know.”

*

They couple twice more that night. The frenzy of the first claiming is over and Derek finally gets his slow, his gentle. They rock together for what feels like hours, mouths and hands exploring, discovering. Stiles begs for his knot each time; Derek is happy to give it, to bury himself deep and stay there.

The last time, Stiles sighs his pleasure.

“You’re mine,” he whispers reverently and Derek spurts inside him, moaning.

Being claimed feels just as good as claiming.

*

Derek wakes in the late morning, Stiles spread out on top of him. His cock stirs in interest when he looks down at the expanse of Stiles’ back, sees the bruises he’s left on his mate’s skin. His hand skims the top of Stiles’ ass, wondering if he could turn him over and get his mouth on Stiles’ cock before he wakes, when a throat clears to his right.

His mother and the town Sheriff stand a few feet away, both wearing unimpressed expressions. Stiles groans and shifts, waking slowly.

“Am I in trouble?” He mumbles; he’s seen their company, then.

“I’d say so,” the Sheriff says drily. “Get dressed; we’ll discuss it over breakfast with your new _in-laws_.”

Clothes are tossed onto them and they disappear in the direction of the house. Derek looks at Stiles.

“Why are we in trouble?” He asks, frowning.

Stiles grins sheepishly. “I wasn’t supposed to be part of the hunt.”

Derek groans and lets his head fall back with a soft _thump_ ; his mother is going to kill him.


	3. Group C - with warnings and pairings

53.

**Warnings:** Voyeurism   
**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek Scott/Stiles 

“Damnit, Scott, don’t you ever clean up after yourself?” Derek strolled back into his room, towel drying his hair. Scott moved across the floor, completely bare, kicking a discarded pillow out of his way. Stiles was resting lightly on Derek’s bed, blankets and a pile of their night clothes, in a messy nest.

Dropping his towel in the hamper, Derek climbed up on next to Stiles sweat- slicked body. Rolling Stiles’ come-covered ass up into the air, Derek inspected his lover. Like a bad puppy, Scott always wanted to mark what he thought was his, usually in the sloppiest way possible.

“You snooze, you lose,” Scott chuckled, from where he lounged handsomely naked in the second-hand chair he had climbed into. “If you hate it so much, clean him out.” 

Derek really wanted to rip the smirk off Scott’s smug little face; the other alpha was growing a tad egotistical lately. Derek’s eyes flashed red at the self-satisfied look . 

Derek pulled Stiles’ plump asscheeks apart, exposing every wet trail leaking from his used hole. Careful to keep his nails blunt, Derek rubbed his index finger over Stiles’ puckered hole, watching it cinch tight. Slowly he wiggled into Stiles slick entrance, scooping out a gob of Scott’s come. 

“Man, I can’t believe you’re – Hey, that’s my shirt!” 

Derek raised an eyebrow, wiping his dirty hand one more time on Scott’s discarded shirt before tossing it back to it’s owner. “If you hate it, clean it up.”

“Hah hah. Fuck you, dude - wait, what the hell are you doing?”

“Showing you the proper way to take care of your toys. Watch.” 

Stiles was always more pliable after an organism, making it particularly easy to move his angular limbs to Derek’s whims. Pulling Stiles’ ass up, Derek swiped his tongue around Stiles’ hole, tasting come and sweat. The strong mix of Scott and Stiles’ scents burned his nose.

A moan from Stiles made Derek pause, finger still half buried. “Come on, Derek; it’s Saturday,” Stiles groaned hoarsely, looking back over his shoulder, ”Don’t you two ever sleep in? We can watch - _shit_.””

“Oops, sorry,” Derek chucked, not sorry at all. Not when Scott was letting out a growl from his spot in the corner. Derek curled his finger, earning a hiss from Stiles.

“Why am I the tug toy between you and Scott?” Stiles gasped. Adjusting his knees, Stiles arched his back so his ass was higher in the air, pulling Derek in deeper.

Scott’s low growl swept the room. Derek could see Scott’s claws dig into the chair, his eyes closed, hiding the red.

“Down boy,” Stiles moaned, rocking back on Derek’s long finger, “no one’s making you stay.”

Scott’s eyes snapped open, looking at Derek, their eyes locking. Though Derek and Scott shared an odd threeway relationship with Stiles, neither Alpha had engaged in the other’s sexual activities. Stiles once joked it was like he had a wife and a mistress that both knew each other. Only with pretty penises. 

Scott’s eyes narrowed and Derek read the challenge loud and clear. _Like hell I’m leaving._

Derek slowly let his claws extend on his free hand, until they were pressing pale, crescent moon marks into Stiles’ hips. Like hell _he’d_ leave.

“Oh, God. Just stop with the Alpha pissing contest and fuck me, Derek. Later you can - _oh!_ ” 

Pressing another finger into Stiles, Derek tapped at Stiles’ bundle of nerves, smiling at the sound of Stiles heartbeat growing louder. Sensing his mate’s arousal, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hip with his free hand, hiking Stiles’ ass up to reveal a rapidly hardening cock.

Shifting them a little to the right, Derek kept his eyes on Scotts face, enjoying the moment Scott realized he could see that he could see all of Stiles. Scott’s whispered, “Fuck, _Derek,_ how does he get hard so fast?” was barely heard over Stiles’, “ _Fucking get on with the fucking._ ”

“Nice mouth you have on you. Now lets take care of this new problem that popped up.” Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, lapping along the pulse point, breathing in the deep mixed smells of Stiles, Scott, and himself.

* * *

54.

**Warnings: N/A**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

The first time it happens, Stiles doesn’t think anything of it.

He’s studying with Scott for finals, grateful that for the first time in years, this is literally the most stressful situation he has to deal with, and it’s glorious.

Then Scott lifts his head and sniffs at the air for at least the fifth time that hour.

Stiles finally breaks. “Dude, seriously, what are you doing?”

“Why do you smell like Derek?”

“Oh, I crashed at his place last night doing research, and he lent me a shirt this morning.” Stiles shrugs and tries to resist the urge to rub his face all over it. Seriously, it’s so soft.

Scott stares at him for a moment before shrugging, and it’s forgotten.

~*~*~

Stiles leaves for college a week before classes are due to start. Scott and his dad help out a lot, but surprisingly, Derek’s there the most, packing everything with delicate care.

The night before he leaves, though, Derek does something even more unexpected. He hugs Stiles.

“Have to work tomorrow, sorry,” Derek mutters into Stiles’ neck, like they do this regularly.

Berkeley is only a few hours away, but the hug is nice, and Derek’s scruff is surprisingly soft as he rubs it against Stiles’ neck, so he isn’t complaining.

It isn’t until Stiles unpacks later that he realizes Derek slipped his soft red henley into one of the boxes, and he smiles affectionately.

~*~*~

“So, is there something you wanna tell me?” Mason, Stiles’ new college roommate, asks a few weeks into the semester.

“Um…no?”

“I didn’t know you were dating a werewolf.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, glancing up from his textbook. “What are you talking about?”

“Your boyfriend. You know, the guy with the dark hair and beard, wears a leather jacket?”

“ _Derek_?”

Mason’s lips pull down into a frown. “You’re not dating him?”

“No!”

“But...why does the whole room reek? It smells like he symbolically pissed everywhere. It’s gross.”

“Oh.” Also, ew…but more importantly, _interesting_.

Mason gives him a significant look which Stiles manfully ignores.

~*~*~

“Are you scent-marking me?”

Derek’s head shoots up, eyes narrowed and suspicious, but Stiles knows better. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

A moment of silence passes, and then, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Stiles says, goes back to eating.

~*~*~

Four days later, Stiles’ history class lets out early, which gives him a prime opportunity for a quick jerk-off session and maybe a nap before his evening class.

Which would be great if there wasn’t a werewolf asleep in his bed. Stiles stares at Derek for a minute, first to make sure he’s still actually breathing, then to decide what to do about this.

It doesn’t take long.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Stiles grumbles, climbing into the bed on top of Derek. Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward, kissing Derek. It takes Derek a moment to fully wake up, and Stiles starts to fear for his life, when Derek’s hands frame his face, pulling him back down.

~*~*~ 

“Jesus fuck,” Stiles gasps out as Derek thrusts into him, brushing against his prostate.

Derek hovers over him, arms braced on either side of his head as he sucks at the bruise on Stiles’ neck like it might fade some time this decade. Stiles’ fingers trail up and down Derek’s back, into his hair, cup his ass, desperate to touch every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

Derek pulls away from his neck, scraping his teeth against the underside of Stiles’ jaw. His thrusts are getting more erratic now, fucking Stiles with abandon. It’s a wonder they haven’t broken Stiles’ crappy dorm bed yet. Stiles tugs at Derek’s hair, slotting their mouths together as he rocks his hips into Derek. His cock is hard, dripping with precome, the only friction an occasional brush against Derek’s stomach.

Reaching down, Stiles takes himself in hand and starts stroking. It feels amazing with Derek inside him, until suddenly he stops, pulls out, and starts jerking off himself. It only takes a couple pulls of his dick before Derek’s coming with a soft moan, spurting across Stiles’ stomach and chest. The sight is enough to send Stiles over the edge, too. He reaches up, drags Derek down for a searing kiss, before Derek spoons up beside him in the bed, fingers trailing through the now-drying come on his stomach.

“So...scent-marking,” Stiles says.

Derek at least has the decency to look chagrined. “It...may be a thing after all?”

* * *

55.

**Warnings:** Knotting  
 **Pairing:** Allison solo, with implied Allison/Scott, Allison/Other

The package arrives on a Friday afternoon, just as speedy and discreet as promised. Allison doesn’t blush when she takes it, but her hands sweat when she hurries into her room, glad her father is not in the house. She locks the door and closes the blinds anyway. 

When Scott became the true Alpha, she had remembered the tales from the Argent Bestiary. The memory of her mother urging her to read, the stories of men and women left wrecked and ravaged by the inhuman… attributes of Alphas meant as a deterrent, proof of why werewolves were monsters is sharp and she pushes it away. Those stories are not why her fingers tremble when they pull her purchase from the box. 

There were other stories too – _women turned into wanton whores, begging to be bred on the alpha’s organ like a bitch in heat, senseless in their depravity_. That is the memory that makes her gasp as her fingers brush the tissue paper aside and unwrap the toy. 

The toy is close to Scott in length and color, but it’s the _knot_ at the base that has her riveted, heat pooling between her legs. As thick as her clenched fist, it bulges out obscenely only to narrow down before a flared base. 

Allison runs a finger from the base to the tip and shivers in anticipation and shame. She is Argent. She should not, and had not when it had been Peter or Derek, and despite Lydia’s smug smiles all of the Alpha pack makes her skin crawl, but when it’s her – when it’s Scott? She’s spent hours with her fingers buried deep between her legs, four barely enough, thinking about it and aching with emptiness. She _wants_ , and she knows she can’t have so this is the next best thing. 

Her knees tremble when she stands up and pulls up a wooden chair, the suction cup making a loud, lewd sound when she fastens it to what is the perfect spot for her to sink down on it. 

Before she can get cold feet, Allison shucks off her clothing, her pink panties already soaked through when she pulls them down her long legs. Her heart hammers in her throat as she straddles the chair, hands gripping the backrest, and slowly lowers herself down until the toy is brushing against her dripping pussy. 

Usually, Allison likes to take her time, to play with her nipples till they’re almost too sensitive, to un her hands along her sides and just tease her curls with her fingertips before she touches herself where she wants it most. But this is different. This is – something primal. 

She takes a deep breath and lowers herself down on the toy. The thick head of the dildo breaches her easily, sliding in with one try. It feels bigger than she thought it would, thick and hard and unyielding as she arches her back, slowly taking more of it inside her body till she brushes against the impossibly wide knot. She stills and inhales sharply, slowly sinking down a fraction of an inch but despite how wet she is the knot is too big for her to take straight away. 

Allison groans and slowly she begins to fuck herself on the toy, tilting her hips just a fraction until it’s hitting her just right with every bend of her knees, sending sparks down her spine. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the chair tighter with every pass, the slick sound of her juices dripping and pooling on the chair so loud to her own ears it makes her head spin. She feels so full already, but she wants _more_. She wants to be split open, taken, she _craves_ the knot inside her throbbing pussy. 

Allison bites her lips every time the knot brushes against her puffy lips. She knows she can’t just slide down and take it, no matter how much she wants it, not without practice. As the first stirrings of an orgasm start tingling through her hips without a single touch to her aching clit, she thinks she’s going to get a _lot_ of practice. One of her hands leaves the backrest, her gymnast’s balance unaffected as she slides it down her soft belly to her dark curls. She sinks down, part of the knot sinking into her drenched cunt as her fingers press down on her clit. 

She comes _hard_ with a loud cry, too lost in her pleasure to hear the door.

* * *

56.

**Warnings: Breeding, knotting, possessive behavior, a/b/o, humiliation**  
 **Pairing:Derek/Peter/Stiles**

“I can’t…” A slap of wet skin on skin sounded out, followed by a strangled grunt as Stiles felt the air knocked out of him by the brutal thrust.

Peter shushed him like he was a skittish colt, petting at the sides of Stiles’ dark hair and cradling his head in his lap as he was pushed forward rhythmically by Derek’s strong hips.

“Yes you can,” Peter cooed, sliding his fingers inside of Stiles’ mouth so he couldn’t talk anymore. Stiles sucked on them, moaned as Peter hooked behind his teeth and tugged, Derek picking up speed. Stiles’ bound arms kept his head forced down, his shoulders aching with strain, his whole body tight and throbbing.

“Can you feel his knot inside of you, baby? Can you feel it growing?”

Stiles’ eyes grew glassy, the swelling of the knot warm and huge and tugging against his sensitive rim with each stroke. He tried to form words but ended up biting down on Peter’s knuckles, and the wolf above him swore and pulled back his hand to slap Stiles right across the face. Stiles cried out more from the indignity of it rather than the pain, though the more time passed the more it stung. 

“Little bitch. Be good for your Alphas, Stiles.”

Derek grunted behind him, the knot finally large enough to lock their bodies together, and Derek used Stiles' bound wrists to just rock Stiles into him again and again. Stiles’ back was slick with sweat, his muscles burning, thighs quivering from being spread for far too long.

The dirty sounds of Derek’s orgasm were loud and rasping, Stiles panting and clenching down around the thick knot. He could feel the come spilling in him, filling him up, hot in his belly. He was full, so full, had been full all day. And would be filled to the brim all night as both wolves pumped as much come inside as possible, the heat licking at their blood, driving them mad with it. With the need to hold and possess and _breed_. 

“That’s it. Take it all,” Peter purred, holding Stiles’ chin up so he could see each flicker of pleasure-pain cross his features. Stiles closed his eyes but burned under the gaze, shame and pleasure twining just beneath his skin. “Can you feel his pups all the way inside of you, Stiles? Is your belly full with them? Round with them?”

Stiles full out moaned, Derek’s claws gentle on his hips but the tips sharp enough to prick, picking him up effortlessly until he was seated right on Derek’s swollen dick. Stiles kicked his legs back, shuffling to find a position that kept him upright but ending up squirming right on the knot while Peter watched with a cloying smirk.

He crawled closer, eyes a vivid shade of crimson, reaching forward to trail his fingers over the slightly rounded curve of Stiles’ stomach. Gravity made everything sink lower, and Stiles could feel the thick mess of come trying to slip out, the knot preventing most of it but his cheeks growing sticky with moisture.

“Put him on his back so it will take,” Peter said to Derek this time, flicking down to toy with Stiles’ leaking cock as almost an after-thought. Stiles felt fat tears welling up, his body used beyond its limits, a rag wrung out one too many times.

Derek shifted him around, pulling Stiles’ limbs so he slid on the knot, the pressure intense and star-inducing behind tightly clenched eyelids. It was when Stiles felt Peter dip the bed behind Derek, pushing his hands behind Stiles’ knees and curving his body so the come could drain down into him that Stiles finally lost it, coming almost painfully with only Derek's loose fist around him.

* * *

57.

**Warnings: non-con**  
 **Pairing:Deucalion/Lydia**

“Are you scared?”

Lydia was, she couldn’t help it. She was all alone, stayed behind in false safety in an untidy, dusty hotel room while her friends followed a trail that could only lead to bloodshed. It could be hours until they returned. Passing the time, she was surprised when the door to her room opened and it came inside. 

Not so much an it on second sight, more a werewolf that looked unlike any she had seen. His eyes glowed red, his face was looking much more beast like than the other werewolves, but it was still a mouth - with very sharp teeth. His entire skin was an unnatural dark grey. His bare chest and arms were incredibly muscular: almost no fat and with pronounced veins.

“Don’t come closer or I’ll scream.” 

“Try.” He moved incredibly fast, his left hand grabbed her throat and trapped her scream.

Pressed against the wall, she had barely enough air to breathe. Lydia tried to remain calm, but her heart was beating as if it wanted to jump out of her chest. He had to hear and feel it being so close to her. Despite her efforts tears streamed down her face, as he dug his thumb deeper under her jaw. 

Roughly he bend her head to her side and began sniffing her exposed skin. A muffled yelp escaped her, when she felt the tips of his canines scratch over neck.

“Definitely scared,” his growly voice sounded quite satisfied.

“Let me go, please.”

“Have your werewolf friends never told you, you shouldn’t trespass into someone’s territory unbidden, unless you can handle the consequences?” It was more a threat than a question. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Maybe, but .. since you’re not a hunter and not wolf,” he grinned. “Then again, you smell of them.” Lydia swallowed hard as she felt a hard bulge pressing against her stomach. “I could change that,” he suggested. 

Following his offer, Lydia felt him tasting her tears. 

“Unless, you rather have me kill you, Lydia.”

“Oh my g…” She realised whom she was dealing with: “Deucalion.”

“I like how you say that ... I know you like werewolves, don’t you?” 

Lydia wanted to scream NO but didn’t dare to. Deucalion knew about her and Aiden and he wasn’t the only one. Despite being terrified, she formed a strategy.

“I do.” Sounding meek, she let her hands do the talking: ignoring the blood on his abs, she ran her fingers over the them. Deucalion tilted his head looking down on her. Lydia did her best to slow her breathing, when she let one hand slide over his hips and then between his legs.

Part of her wanted him to ask to change back, but that would show more weakness. Lydia wanted to both impress him with boldness as well as flatter his ego. In the end, from what she felt, the anatomy was still the same where it counted. She just had to hope he wasn’t going to give into any urges to give her hickeys.

Deucalion didn’t stop her, probably wanting to see how it played out. Taking advantage of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a belt, she let her bloody hand slip past his waistband while using her other to open his pants to allow her further access. His hair was incredibly soft - furry - she had to admit she liked how it felt.

A soft growl game from his throat when her hand touched his dick. Once she had pulled down his jeans and pants, she felt it grow even more, until it had become hard against her hands. One wasn’t even able to wrap itself around the thick shaft. Lydia could handle it, quite literally, while she was better at blowjobs than handjobs, in this case it was probably for the best.

All she heard were approving grunts, as she stroke its length with one hand while her other one gave some additional attention to his balls. It didn’t take her long to figure out how he prefered a firmer grip and it excited her how her touches elicited more and more unholy, lustful groans. Lydia felt his blood pump through his cock and finally she felt hot, sticky liquid splash against her abdomen, chest and hands. He let out a deep satisfied groan, that almost drowned her sigh of relief. This hadn’t been as awful as she had feared.

Deucalion looked at her: “This was a nice start.”

Lydia gulped.

* * *

58.

**Warnings:** knotting  
 **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

The nogitsune left behind a stain. Stiles can feel it under his skin, something has changed. His body is different and he’s not even sure if it’s his anymore. Old scars that looked faded and familiar in his mirror one day are disappearing and gone the next. 

He’s alone in his head now but his body isn’t his anymore, at least not the one he knew.

Stiles doesn’t tell anyone this. Not after everything they’ve been through, what he put them through, losing Allison. He doesn’t want to worry them anymore. 

So he tries to ignore it, this body that isn’t quite his but is all he has left.

It’s hard though. It’s not just the peek a boo scars. 

It takes him awhile to notice but he doesn’t need as many pills as he used to. He can go longer and longer without and there’s a silence in his head that’s never been there before. After that he starts to catalogue the other changes: his hearing, his sight, his balance.

He’s not suddenly getting superpowers. It’s nowhere near the level of freaky awesomeness Scott has going on. It’s just noticeably _better_. 

It’s that acknowledgement that drives him to Derek’s loft. Not for Derek though. 

Peter doesn’t even look surprised when he opens the door. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come around.” He looks bored and Stiles would buy it if he didn’t catch the faintest sound of his heartbeat speeding up, like a radio going in and out of frequency. 

He’s also alone and Stiles is thankful for that.

“You said you knew what was going on with me.” He’s proud of the fact that it doesn’t come out like the plea for answers it is. 

“I do.” Peter closes the door behind him and brushes a hand against his spine. “I’ve missed you.” His voice softens and Stiles tries not to think about “Operation Lose His V-Card” and Peter’s starring role in that. It’s not what he came here for.

Peter’s hand is warm against his back, almost possessive and Stiles can’t pull himself away, body arching into the touch and _what the fuck_?

“What the fuck?” he all but moans at the touch and he can feel the freaking smirk against his neck followed by a quick flash of teeth before Peter pulls away. He feels a bit lost at the sudden absence.

“It’s still very much your body, by the way.” Peter gives him a quick leer before circling around him and walking to the couch. Stiles follows because he wants to hear what Peter has to say, not because it was the first time it had really felt like his own body since he stopped sharing his head with a psycho. “The nogitsune made a few changes to make it more habitable. But just because it’s gone doesn’t mean that gets erased.”

“So what am I now?” And really, it’s the question that’s been haunting him. It’s not even just the changes to his body; he’s not sure what’s left after the nightmare.

Peter sits down on the couch, smirking. “To simplify it, a shade of a kitsune, not entirely but enough. You also could be mine now.” He stands and Stiles tries to catch up, to take in the whole “not completely human anymore” thing (he pretty much knew that) along with the sudden possessiveness.

“Wait, what?” He doesn’t back off as Peter approaches him, lets him tilt his head up so their eyes meet.

“Did you know werewolves can’t mate with humans? It’s just never worked.” He presses a kiss to Stiles lips, teeth biting and claws sharp on his arms as they lengthen.

“I’m not human anymore,” Stiles breathes out between them, realizing. 

Peter grips him tighter, smiling as he kisses him. “No, you’re not.”

*~*~*~*

Later, when Peter has him bent over the couch and he’s biting at his shoulder, he finds out another thing werewolves can’t do with humans. It’s called a _knot_ and it’s amazing as it catches at his rim, forcing him open wide around it as Peter presses in more. Stiles screams into the cushions from the pain and pleasure of it and Peter laughs against the wet skin of his neck.

They stay locked together, Peter burning his way into this body that’s only his now as he whispers secrets into his ear. He makes promises as he puts Stiles back together.

For the first time since he looked in the mirror _after_ , he lets himself sink into the weight of his own skin.

* * *

59.

**Warnings:** Vague Marvel Movie Spoilers?  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

Derek wasn’t sure when it became tradition, but whenever he and Stiles got stuck on a stakeout together, Stiles brought an iPad loaded with movies. They were the kind of movies everyone had seen so you didn’t need to pay attention to them, but the background noise was nicer than awkward silence and Stiles’ random babbling. 

Steve Rodgers had just been juiced by Project Rebirth and glistened with sweat the first time Derek scented it. Stiles hadn’t shifted or adjusted himself in any way - it wasn’t even physically noticeable -- but the scent of arousal was unmistakable and strong enough that Derek had to breathe through his mouth until the scent faded an hour later.

They were on another stakeout when it happened again. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark raged in a shouting match and the air got so thick and heavy that Derek had to crack a window. 

They were all at The Winter Soldier when it happened next. Steve Rogers ran through the Lincoln Memorial in a shirt so tight it could only be labeled obscene and Derek had to shift in his seat and subtly adjust his pants. 

They were on another stakeout when Derek finally snapped. Loki shifted into Captain America to goad Thor and seconds later the rich, heady scent of _sexlustwant_ lifted to his nose. Derek looked to the heavens for strength and closed his eyes. 

“Captain America? Really? What are you, 12?” And he didn’t even care because Chris Evans _was_ gorgeous, but he couldn’t take it anymore. Every time he and Stiles watched a movie together he was getting pavlovian sympathy boners. It had to stop.

“Bzuh?” Stiles was mid-sip out of a straw when he turned his head, his expression confused. He looked ridiculously endearing and Derek had to look away. 

“Captain America. You seem to,” Derek couldn’t make eye contact so he looked out his windshield and cleared his throat, “enjoy him.” 

“Oh! Um,” Stiles fingers drummed his thigh and bit his lip. The sharp scent of embarrassment pierced the arousal and it was such a relief that Derek took a deep breath. “It’s the, erm, strength. His super strength. I kind of...” he trailed off and mumbled “fucking werewolves” under his breath.

“Strength,” Derek began. And he didn’t even bother to question the lack of arousal over Thor, because Stiles’ arousal made his brain malfunction; he felt reckless and stupid after months of Captain BlueBalls taunting him. He grabbed his socket wrench out of the back seat. “You mean like this?” He bent it in half.

Stiles’ eyes went wide and liquid, barely any of the amber remaining. “Nngh.” The bitten off moan fueled Derek’s recklessness. Stiles licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah, like that.” 

Derek, without breaking eye contact, reached in the backseat and grabbed his hammer. “And this?” He bent that in half too, and Stiles made a delicious, choked-off noise as the scent of arousal in the car went from mild to suffocating in a fraction of a second. 

Stiles took the hammer from Derek’s loose grip and threw it in the back seat before he grabbed his collar and smashed their lips together. It was messy and enthusiastic and Derek rolled his tongue and savored every second. 

He moved his hand to Stiles’ belt and relished the low hiss of “yessss” that leaked out between their lips. He slipped his hand in the opening of Stiles’ pants and squeezed his hand around Stiles’ erection. “Fuck, Derek,” he whimpered when Derek rubbed his thumb around the head of his cock. 

Derek pushed his fingers through the thick tufts of Stiles’ hair and tugged him closer, kissing him deeper, and hating the car’s center console between them. He kissed Stiles like he’d never get another chance, memorizing every bite, lick, and breath between them.

Stiles’ dick was wet and messy as he stroked it and Derek worked for his groans and whimpers as he twisted and pulled at it. Stiles shook against him when his fingers brushed his sac and Derek could _smell_ that he was about to come; it was olfactory nirvana. Derek worked him and gave a final, tight squeezing tug and Stiles cried out when he came.

Stiles sagged against him and Derek his discomfort to savor the moment. “So, super strength...”

“No, it’s,” Stiles shook his head. “Steve, he’s...” He appeared undecided for a moment until he pushed forward and met his lips in a soft kiss, hands wandering south. “It’s you,” Stiles whispered, his voice earnest and his eyes shining. “Steve is nice like you.”

* * *

60.

**Warnings: animals mating, knotting**   
**Pairings: Scott/Kira, Stiles/TMI**

" _Annually the female red foxes will experience an estrous period of lasting from 1 to 6 days. They ovulate spontaneously with or without copulation. The exact time of estrous and breeding varies. December-January for the southern fox population, and February-April for the north. Males fight during the breeding season. They have a fecundity cycle only from November to March, with full spermatogenesis._ " Kira read aloud from the Animal Diversity Web page on her phone, voice sweetly small and crisp like a school girl that was getting graded for her poetry.

Stiles's face was an amalgamation of two parts can you not, one part oh I didn’t know that, and three parts _**but why, Kira**_. They were sitting in his jeep. It was after school, when Kira made some implausible excuse to ditch Scott (who swallowed the excuse down smiling like an animated sunflower) and then kidnapped Stiles (politely, with a Mars bar and small hands at Stiles’ sleeve) into his own jeep to ‘talk’. 

"-- _The red fox’s mating behavior varies, and while most often they are monogamous, males with multiple female mates are also know. Female foxes may also mate with any number of males, but they will establish partnership with only one male. The red fox groups always have only one breeding male, but that male may also seek mating outside of the group._ This is from MacDonald and Reynolds, 2005."

“You said you wanted to ‘talk’…?” Stiles cut in meekly, air-quoting the last word hoping Kira might speak human. At Kira’s big, pleading eyes, Stiles made a perhaps-whimpering noise and slumped shoulders for Kira to continue. 

He, however, drew the line when Kira angled her phone over to play a YouTube video of Foxes Mating. The male fox aligned himself mounting the female after a couple of rounds of flirtatious playing. Once he humped his way in, the female’s tail tossed to the side like a sad accessory, the two started to twist in opposite directions. For a second there, Stiles was curious as to what they were trying to do, and then he realized it as the two foxes stayed stuck together with their hinds locked tightly together, still squirming and twitching all over, kind of like a tug-of-war. Or tug of knot. (A flash of the XXXL condom danced by Stiles’ mind, quickly traumatizing him further). 

Stiles threw his arms up in a wild bout of protest, “But what are you trying to do here----and oh my **god** what is that **smell** \---!” Stiles made to throw himself out of the door of his own jeep to get away from the suffocatingly strong, musky, skunk-like odour, and then thought better of it in a moment of conscience (which consisted solely of Scott’s judgmental stare back when they were four) and opened the windows instead. 

Kira looked about ready to either explode from all the redness in her face, or cry, both of which would kill Stiles dead. “…I’m so sorry Stiles…I… I don't want to talk to my mom about a _third puberty_ …or whatever you call this…“

Stiles made offended faces at her, “I am no longer a fox!”

“But you’re the only one I know that might be able to relate!”

“---to **what exactly**?!” Stiles squawked.

Kira squirmed, small hands neatly folded in her lap, “I…I don’t know…the horrible _impulses_ I’ve been getting lately, the _smell_ , the _heat_ , and oh god, do you have a knot?!”

“Again, no longer a fox here!”

“Do you think Scott has a knot??”

“I haven’t heard him screeching about it so I don’t think so???”

“Oh…” Kira looked mightily relieved and maybe a hint disappointed, “Oh! Did you know that there is a website that sells [In Heat Urine](http://www.inheatscents.net/greyfox.html) from foxes, wolves, lynx, and more? Do you think that would…” Kira’s bright eyes were wide as though in awe, and her voice went even tinier (Stiles didn’t know why, when she could read In Heat Urine out loud before), “…work on werewolves?”

"Kira, if you wanted to hook up with Scott, just say so. Ask your mom about the smell – I am not kidding. I can guarantee you Scott will not need … urine, to convince him to do anything with you. Are we good? Drive you home? Yeah? Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

61.

**Warnings:** Non-con/Dub-con, Underage (Stiles is 17)  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Nogitsune!Stiles

Stiles wasn't the first one to see it. That was Lydia. But when she saw it, it frightened her. But for Stiles, it wasn't the same. The knowledge tasted sharp in his chest and felt like drawing too near to a fire. He thought he liked it. Because Peter, well. Peter looked.

Peter looked and Stiles knew.

And he never said a word.

 

The nogitsune, though, wasn't afraid to talk. He found Peter in Derek's loft. Peter stepped aside to let him in and as he passed, the he caught the way Peter's eyes darted lower when he thought Stiles wasn't looking, quick and subtle.

Peter said something about Derek not being in. Stiles said "I see the way you look at us."

Stiles wouldn't have noticed it, but the nogitsune saw the sharp tension in Peter's back. "Me. Lydia. Allison. Who else?" He grabbed the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulled it off over his head. Peter's head twitched towards him. "Does Derek know?"

And then Peter was just _there_ , suddenly in front of him, looking every inch the wolf even though his features hadn't yet shifted. "What are you doing?" he asked, lips tilted mockingly. "Why are you here?"

He let his pants fall to the floor. He toed off his shoes and Peter stepped back, watching him with hungry, predatory eyes. He cupped himself through his boxers. He was already half-hard, caused by a mixture of teenaged hormones and the excitement prickling just beneath his skin.

Peter's eyes flickered to Stiles' groin. "Is this how we're playing it, then?" His eyes went red.

 

The nogitsune let Peter fuck Stiles right there in the middle of the room, face down on the cold, slightly dusty floor. Clawed hands left scratches on the floor. Peter's tongue lolled against Stiles' throat. "Come on," the nogitsune encouraged. "Is that all you've got?"

"Oh, Stiles," Peter promised. His voice was gutteral and his fanged mouth mangled the words on their way out. "I'm just getting started." He felt impossibly huge in Stiles' ass. Every thrust sent jolt of pain through Stiles' body. Peter's fur felt coarse against Stiles' bare back.

Peter came inside Stiles. Stiles came all over the floor. He had no bite marks on his body but there was a series of shallow grooves on his hip, right where Peter had held him still.

Afterwards, when the nogitsune had managed to shove Stiles' body back into Stiles' clothes, he nodded at the spot on the floor. "When they come back, they'll smell it," he said.

Peter's good humor had faded. Now, he looked vaguely ill. He hid it poorly. "Then you'd better leave so I can clean your scent out."

 

But when the others came for him, he knew from Derek's uncomfortable glances, that Derek had still figured it out. But Derek didn't say anything to Stiles about it and Peter, though more nervous, continued to look at him.

The nogitsune blew his cover and died before he could use what he'd learned.

But when Stiles came back into himself, and when the worst of it all had faded, Peter was still _there_. And he still looked.

He dreamed about it sometimes. His mind went back to the memory of hot breath panting in his ear, the screech of claws tearing into wood, and the press of Peter's thick cock splitting him open. He woke from those dreams hard and panting, desperate for release.

So it didn't come as a surprise to him when he found himself at Peter's apartment.

And it didn't come as a surprise to him when Peter let him in.

* * *

62.

**Warnings:** sex work, religious themes, D/s themes  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Derek  
Scott doesn’t know who he thought he was kidding, coming here.

He thought, when he’d fled the temple, that he’d get a quiet drink somewhere too dark for people to recognize him. It’s not that he resents his status. It’s just, sometimes? He’d like just a little break from being people’s _only hope_ , all Oh-Bee-One Kenobi style. (And no, being named the First True Alpha in a hundred years hasn’t left much time for catching up on movies, even so-called “pillars of American sci-fi, jeez, Scott.”)

So he came here: a dark but tasteful club on the edge of town with a reputation for shadowy alcoves and discreet service.

It takes fifteen seconds for someone to recognize him.

“ _Your Grace_ ,” croons a uniformed woman. She takes in a deep breath of his scent. “It’s an honor having you here. We can arrange for a private room, if you like?”

Scott’s shoulders sag in disappointment. He’d just wanted a drink, maybe an uncomplicated dance with a pretty girl.

“Sure,” he says.

“Right this way.” 

She inclines her head respectfully as she turns, but Scott catches it when her eyes flash in an instinctive flinch. Scott ignores it, the same way he ignores similar reactions ten times a day. Scott’s scent is powerful, but even his mere presence makes most wolves recoil a bit. Even Isaac, a Believer and now Scott’s Beta, had initially said, _It’s like you attached a string to my bellybutton and then_ jerked _it_.

Heads turn as the attendant leads Scott through the club, golden eyes flashing at him from the recesses of deep booths and the throng of people on the dance floor. Scott stares straight ahead.

The room Scott is led to is lush, low-lit and covered in heavy fabric, and he drops himself into a velvety armchair with a sigh.

“Would Your Grace like some entertainment?”

“Um. Sure.” It comes out of Scott’s mouth before he even parses the question. _Entertainment_. She means a stripper. Or, wow, maybe a prostitute. There’s a reason this place has so many little rooms in the back, after all, oh God.

“Any preferences?” she asks

“Nope,” Scott’s mouth says, because it’s no longer connected to his brain. Preferences about _what_? Size? Shape? Gender? Ability to withstand his presence without flinching?

Scott spends the next four minutes sipping a cocktail and anxiously trying to decide what he’ll do when the woman comes in.

He regrets not specifying when the door opens and a _man_ walks in.

The guy’s not smooth and golden, like most dancers at this place. He’s got dark, distracting body hair swirling across his pecs and tapering to a thread that disappears under the…well. Scott supposes the only word for it is _loincloth_.

“Um,” Scott says intelligently.

“Your Grace,” the man says, standing very still, allowing Scott’s gaze to sweep over his thighs, his biceps, his solemn, bearded face.

He’s not Scott’s type at all. 90% of the people Scott’s been with have been dainty women, and the other 10% has been…Isaac.

The man’s eyes are alight, a steady blue, and while he’s clearly feeling the effects of Scott’s presence—he shivers, his gaze darts up and down Scott’s body—he’s not flinching.

“I’m Derek,” he says. “May I approach you, Your Grace?”

“Mmm-hmm,” says Scott, because Scott is a dork.

Derek stalks forward into Scott’s personal space, until his shins press hard against Scott’s knees. The loincloth hides very little, because Derek is growing helplessly, inexorably erect. 

“You’re a Believer,” Scott realizes, as he watches the loincloth tent.

“Yes,” Derek says, rather breathlessly. He’s taking quick breaths through his nose, sucking in Scott’s scent.

He’s not Scott’s type. And yet. No one’s ever had a reaction quite like this. Scott looks up into the man’s eyes, and his faith, his nascent loyalty makes the Alpha burn in Scott’s gut.

“May I?” Scott asks, already reaching for the straps at Derek’s hips.

“I should….” Derek shudders when the cloth whispers over his dick and then falls. “I should service you…”

Scott feels a sudden protectiveness come over him, a desire to protect that feeds straight into his cock and spread like a fever through his limbs. He wants to reward this man. 

“Shhh,” he says, and leans forward to swallow him whole.

* * *

63.

**Warnings: knotting, voyeurism with a tiny bit extra**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

"You don't have to do this, you know," Derek reminded him.

"Yes, I do. Of course I do! Wait, do you not want to do the whole ritual thing?" Stiles asked.

"I want to," Derek rumbled into his ear, his body pressing Stiles' into the bed. "I want you by my side when we meet other packs. I want everyone to know you're my mate."

"Good." Stiles arched up a little, enough to press his cock into the curve of Derek's hip. "Then we're doing this."

"I'll show everyone that you're mine," Derek told him, as he moved his hand down to rub at Stiles' hole. "Show them all how good you are for me. How much you want me."

Stiles gasped a little as he pressed in with two fingers - he was had done some prep already, but Derek always liked doing more before he knotted him. Derek had told him once, flushing a little, that he needed to know for himself that he'd be hurting Stiles as little as possible.

By the time Derek pressed his cock in, Stiles was about insane with wanting. He was babbling encouragements that probably weren't making a lot of sense, but Derek was calmly and carefully pushing in and out, in and out, never hard or fast enough to satisfy him, just enough to keep him desperate for more.

"Come on, you asshole. Fuck me for real already," he hissed into Derek's neck.

Derek stopped entirely, just looking at Stiles with a quirk in his eyebrow. Stiles held Derek's gaze as long as he could, then -

"Please," he whispered, the bravado gone. "Please Derek, I need you to -"

Derek flipped them over so Stiles was on top of him, but it didn't give Stiles much more control - Derek was too strong, too powerful. All he could do was hang on as Derek drove up into him, again and again. 

Stiles felt Derek swelling in him as Derek started to rock more gently, letting Stiles' cock rub against his stomach but not enough, not enough -

Too much, too much as the knot got bigger. Every time they did this, Stiles thought he was going to burst, physically or emotionally; that he couldn't take one millimeter more, but then he did. He lost himself a little in breathing in and out, in balancing the arousal and the stretch

"Sounds like they're ready," he heard a woman's voice saying. Erica, it was Erica with her characteristic nonchalant drawl, but he could hear the excitement too.

"Come in," Derek called out, and Stiles tucked his head as far as he could into the crook of Derek's neck, trying to hide the red flush on his cheeks, trying to hide entirely. This was important, but he was happy to pretend it wasn't happening as much as possible.

The door opened and it didn't close. He heard footsteps and quiet chatter as the pack filed into the room.

"Wow," Boyd said, and the rest of the group was silent for a few moments.

"Good enough for me, I'm out," Scott said, and shut the door behind him.

"Get closer," Derek told the rest of them, and they obeyed their alpha, gathering around the edge of the bed. Derek reached down and pulled apart his cheeks even further than he was already opened, and he felt his face burning against Derek's skin.

"Does it hurt him?" Lydia asked, ever curious.

"He says it doesn't," Derek replied, "but he's lying."

"Can I?" Erica reached out her hand tentatively, and Derek grunted assent.

Stiles felt a cool finger touch him, delicately running along his stretched rim. He jerked forward a little and a breath of air was punched out of him, but he stayed otherwise quiet and still.

There were a few more fingers, all soft and unthreatening - Boyd? Isaac? - and then a smaller one that pushed a little, opening him up just a little further, accompanied by a feminine giggle.

Derek started rocking again, and Stiles felt open and vulnerable in more ways than one, the eyes of all his friends on where Derek was fucking him with his knot, huge and possessive. He felt hot with shame and arousal, but as Derek continued the arousal won out - it was too familiar, too comforting, despite the strangeness of the murmurs and unobtrusive touches. 

When he came, he came with Derek inside him and his pack watching. _His_ pack.

* * *

64.

**Warnings: Dubious Consent**  
 **Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski**

“ _Fuuuuuck_ yeah, c’mon Der.” Stiles tried to move to get some friction but Derek had him firmly pinned down. “Stop teasing, asshole.” He whined. 

Derek had both of Stiles’ wrists held together at his back with one hand. Stiles heard the cap of what was probably the lube clicking open and shut and there was Derek’s finger, massaging his rim where it held the plug. Stiles let out a sigh of relief and tried to move back onto the wolf’s fingers but a minor growl had him staying still.

“Fuck, Der, you wont let me touch or see you and to top it all off I can’t move? What the fuck?” Stiles waited for an answer but Derek just kept moving his finger in and out from around the plug and Stiles was getting impatient. Is this a werewolf power trip? “Do you want me to beg? Is that what you want? Because I will.” 

The finger stopped moving for two seconds before it continued and Stiles took that as confirmation. “Derek I’ve had this thing in me for hours I need you, _please!_ ” 

Derek’s hold on his wrists became tighter and he slowly began to pull out the plug. Stiles could’ve cried in relief. His dick has been hard ever since he felt his mate’s weight on him, he needs to come.

When the plug was out Stiles felt empty and let out a whimper that he knew always drove Derek’s wolf crazy. Derek quickly moved two of his finger in Stiles’ hole, stretching him out further.

Stiles let out a desperate whine, “Please, I don’t need to be prepped any more. I need _you_.” Derek didn’t seem fazed so Stiles began to play dirty. He clenched around Derek’s fingers and bared his throat. “Fill me up, Der. Don’t you want to mark me? Make sure everyone knows who I belong to?”

The growl that the wolf let out was so satisfying it made Stiles’ body shiver in anticipation. Something was so incredibly wrong with his self-preservation instinct but whatever.

The fingers that were in him were replace by the head of Derek’s hot and heavy cock. The wolf gripped his hipbone with his free hand hard enough that he was sure he was going to bruise. He pressed in and Stiles couldn’t keep his groan from escaping, Derek bottomed out and Stiles felt so fucking full. 

Derek didn’t seem as thick as usual, maybe it’s because he had a plug the size of a small knot in him for so long but fuck it, Derek would stretch him to his limit soon enough. Stiles sometimes worried that he had a minor obsession with Derek’s knot. He could write odes to it, epics even. Stiles could feel that he was leaking onto the bed and he wanted his wolf to move. 

"Derek," Stiles breathes. “ _Please_.” He barely finished the plea when, without warning, Derek began to piston into him, hitting his prostate dead on with every other trust. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck - "

Stiles kept up a litany of _I love you. Please. Yes, right there. I’m yours, only yours._

The growling got louder and louder as Derek got rougher with him. "H-hard. So hard, Derek, so _deep_ , I - "Stiles is on the edge, his balls tightening, he just needs something—anything _more_ to get off. Derek seems to sense this and bites him _hard_ on the nape of his neck and the sting of it pushes Stiles over and he feels the orgasm being punched out of him, leaving him breathless and dizzy. 

Derek doesn’t slow down, he keeps pounding him through his orgasm and Stiles, still drunk of his release and certain that he won’t be able to walk right tomorrow, tries to help Derek find his own. 

“Come on. _Mark_ me, Der. _Knot_ me.” Derek’s breath began to come out in pants. “ _Claim me._ ”

Derek’s rhythm stutters and Stiles feels his come filling him up, warming up his insides, but he doesn’t feel Derek’s knot. An internal alarm in Stiles’ head went off at that because Derek said that since they were mates he’d always knot him when they have sex, it was instinct.

“Derek? What’s wrong?” Stiles felt him pull out and heard a zipper being pulled up. His wrists were finally released and he turned around and froze.

Peter was looking down at him with a shit-eating grin. “Say hello to my nephew for me.” He winked and left through the window.

* * *

65.

**Warnings: none**   
**Pairing: Peter/Stiles**

He loves the full moon.

There have been twelve since he was first claimed by his mate. It's an anniversary and they're going to celebrate.

He runs.

You shouldn't run from a predator, but he's not trying to get away. It's a chase to stir the blood of both hunter and hunted.

Bursting into a small clearing, the moon shining brightly directly overhead, he hears the growl from behind him and a shiver goes through him. Fear is a natural reaction, no matter that his head knows his mate won't hurt him. His brain is being overridden by his own primal instincts.

Run. Escape.

His feet are already moving his body out of the clearing, when he's hit in the back, taken down to the mossy covered ground. Landing hard, the air driven from him, he feels hot moist breath on the back of his neck before fangs lock on gently.

The sensation of being pinned, forced to submit, sends a jolt of lust straight to his cock which hardens beneath him. His mate grumbles, rocks against him, and he's hard, too. Hard and naked.

It's only a matter of minutes before his clothes are shredded by claws that are so careful. Fabric rips away but his skin is untouched. Cool air ghosts over him, making him shiver again, but then he's warmed by his mate covering him. Clawed hands wraps around his stomach, lifting him to his knees, and the fangs that never broke skin leave his neck, but he keeps his head down in submission.

On other nights they're equals, switching up in their big, warm bed, but here, in the forest, beneath the moon, he's the one who is always taken.

So, he prepares beforehand with a thick dildo slick with lube, and, supported by the wolf's strong hands, he reaches back, parts his ass cheeks, arches his spine, and opens himself. 

A howl of pleasure and his mate is inside him, driving to the balls with one hard thrust. It burns, but the pain is so good. He's so full and his cock is aching and dripping onto the ground. Digging one hand into the dirt, he wraps the other around his dick, pumping it, pre-cum making his hand slick, the friction just perfect. His fingers clench and he throws back his head and yells.

In their bed, they can be loving, slow, tender, but under the moon they rut like the animals they are. His mate thrusts hard and fast, driving them both across the soft dirt, skidding them both on their knees. He ignores the scrapes forming--later his mate will bathe him, gently picking dirt and grit from the minor wounds, soothing any pains. Now, all he wants is the fucking and the moon and his wolf. Claws prick at his stomach, pulling him back onto the cock inside him. He revels in it, slapping his hips backwards, pumping his dick in his fist.

He hears his mate sniffing the air, then a clawed hand knocks his away from his cock, the other grabbing his neck, forcing his face down into the moss and leaves. The new angle of his ass in the air makes the dick inside him hit his prostate with every thrust, and he shudders and whines and humps nothing.

"Please let me come, oh fuck, let me come, please," he begs, over and over, on the edge and wanting so badly. 

The wolf growls deeply, hips pummeling harder, balls slapping, and claws pricking tender skin.

Feeling his mate getting closer, losing his rhythm, hot pants of air hitting his trembling back, he begs again, this time just a non-verbal whine as his whole body shakes with both the thrusts and his own desperate need.

"Come."

"Ohgodohgodohgod, Peter!" he howls as, dick untouched, he orgasms into the dirt and over his stomach. Just that voice, so inhuman, so deep and passionate and raw...

"Stiles," Peter growls, a long, reverberating sound, as he comes in his mate and takes him carefully to the ground, their hips slowing as their hunger fades to tenderness.

Peter's tongue licks gently at the marks on Stiles' neck, the new ones that just bruised, the old, mating bite that scarred.

Stiles smiles and reaches back to caress Peter's furry cheek.

Above them the moon shines on.

* * *

66.

**Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Deputy Parrish

It’s like a call, a pull that irritates too much to be ignored and burns when he thinks about walking away. It’s a hint of something he can’t put his finger on, it lingers and doesn’t describe itself. It’s not emotion, it’s not smell. It’s creates a difference without explanation. It simply exists and he has to follow. 

It becomes his siren in a town with a banshee, a kitsune, werewolves, emissaries, hunters, and that still remembers a kanima. And yet it’s this that pulls and calls him.

Peter follows the change; keeps his eyes sharp, his breath tight, and his claws ready. He takes a breath and waits, it’s instinct as well as experience that leads him now. The wolf knows the difference between human and beast, it knows the difference between the natural and the supernatural. The man knows the routine of a cop: the station then patrol, the coffee shop then the road to the preserve, back to the station then the bar. And it’s at the bar, full of cops and wary 9-to-5’ers, that he finally puts a face to his mystery. He feels the pull again, stronger and more heady.

“Come here often?” he asks and waves for another drink for his companion and one for himself. He nods when the deputy, badge still shiny, ignores him but takes the drink. He takes the silence as invitation and inches closer, lowers his voice and smiles around his sip as his claws lengthen again, “You’re not a werewolf. And you’re not a hunter.”

Parrish stops, his glass midway to his mouth and his eyes locked on Peter’s in the bar mirror. He raises an eyebrow then brings the drink to his lips.

“You’re not a banshee or any of the other special flavors Beacon Hills seems to offer these days. But you’re not human,” he drops his hand to Parrish’s knee and squeezes, “So what are you?”

“A deputy with the Beacon Hills sheriff’s department,” Parrish answers, keeps his voice low even as he spreads his legs slightly. “Werewolves?”

Peter tightens his grip, catches the flicker when Parrish’s eyes go from green to purple. 

“Ah,” he replies, “A siren added to the mix. Funny, I always thought of sirens as … more femme fatale than Johnny on the spot.”

“Well,” Parrish bites back, “I promise, I won’t call you to your death.”

“Oh,” Peter turns, plucks the glass from Parrish’s hand and swallows the rest of his drink, “You don’t scare me, _deputy_.”

“Really?” Parrish leans closer and this time it’s _his_ hand sliding up Peter’s leg, his other pulling Peter’s barstool closer. “A siren’s call is the death of man.”

“I’m more than just a man, boy,” Peter replies. He stands, lets Parrish’s hand fall, “But I suppose I’m game if you are.” 

He leaves, confident that the deputy will follow and desperate to turn back around to make sure. He waits against the patrol car door. And waits. He nearly goes back, nearly lets himself lose control, when Parrish saunters from the bar grinning and letting the reds of his eyes burn through.

“More than a man?” he stops in front of Peter and runs his finger from button to button, smirks up at Peter, “But still ready to crawl back inside just for little old me, even with a dozen cops inside. Come on Hale, I always wanted to fuck a werewolf.”

——

Later … Peter doesn’t not remember leaving the parking lot, doesn’t not remember climbing the stairs to Parrish’s apartment. He just doesn’t remember. 

He remembers Parrish whispering in his ear. He remembers Parrish moaning into his mouth and remembers Parrish’s leg pressing between his. He remembers ripping the shirt from Parrish’s shoulders and clawing at the undershirt beneath, remembers mouthing along his skin and groaning when Parrish fisted a hand in his hair. He remembers Parrish’s fingers frantically pulling at his shirt and sliding over his chest. He remembers someone begging to go faster, someone cursing as they both fumbled with belts and shoes and zippers. 

He remembers _finally_ fucking into Parrish, remembers the wet heat and sweet release. He remembers Parrish’s voice seducing him; remembers Parrish whispering behind him, in front of him. Remembers Parrish’s voice around him, inside him. Remembers Parrish’s eyes glowing as he comes.

He remembers Parrish’s gasping as he comes, eyes wide and voice quiet. He remembers Parrish laying back, pulling Peter closer and whispering, “Not dead then.”

“Not a man.”

* * *

67.

**Warnings:** N/A  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 

He was the most gorgeous man Derek had ever seen, and Derek was around handsome men every night. Fancy businessmen in loosened ties and three-piece suits, rough-hewn blue-collar workers, geeky university students --

Like the one sitting at Derek's bar, chin in his hand, stirring his rum and coke with the lackadaisical drive of a lonely man.

When he was close enough to be heard over the soul-thrumming jazz music, Derek said, "There are cheaper drinks at the bar down the road."

The man startled, blinking back his surprise before smiling and stealing Derek's heart in the process.

"Are they better drinks?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" the man asked, pouting. _Jesus_. Derek had fantasized about those lips around his cock since pouring the man's drink.

"If I'm trying anything, it's at _keeping_ you," Derek said. When that smile returned, wicked and sly, Derek knew he was done for.

"I like you," he said, tilting his head the way a fox might cant an ear. "My name is Stiles."

**

Stiles came on Thursdays, his only free night between school and work. He always ordered one drink and nursed it for hours, leaving when his glass was dry.

This time, Derek kept Stiles' glass full. When the last patron left and his staff dragged themselves off, Derek locked up, and it was just the two of them. Him and Stiles.

"Your drinks have gotten better," Stiles teased. His tails curled and twitched with unsuppressed energy. 

Derek's rejoinder died on his lips. 

_Tails_.

Nine fox tails of a soft brown fur tipped with white. The love of his life was a kitsune.

Derek's surprised grunt became a delighted rumble. He pressed his nose into the crook of Stiles' neck, inhaling the scent that had long been masked by rum and coke and smoke.

He smelled _so good_. Musky and wild. Like thunder and lightning. The Celestial come down to earth just for him.

Derek's hand drifted to the base of Stiles' tails, taking hold. He wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist, half-expecting a struggle. "I've caught you."

Stiles turned his head, lips brushing Derek's cheek, and grinned a sober grin. "That's what you think."

**

Stiles' back arched deliciously, skin glistening with sweat. His hips rolled with sinuous purpose. Derek was slowly driven mad by Stiles' soft moans and the teasing brushes of fur against his skin. He scratched blunt fingers down the curve of Stiles' spine, revelling in the resulting shiver.

Stiles leaned forward, hands on Derek's shins, fucking himself onto Derek. The tails were blocking Derek's view, giving him tantalizing glimpses of his cock disappearing into Stiles' ass. Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, his eyes glazed over with lust and bliss.

Derek groaned, nearly coming from that alone. He bit one of Stiles' tails in retaliation. Another one hit him on the head.

Stiles laughed. Derek loved his laugh.

Derek wanted to buck up into Stiles. He wanted to bite and _claim_. He wanted to make this little fox _his_. 

_Fuck it_. He stopped holding back.

His knot swelled, the thick bulge at the base of his cock growing for his mate. His grip tightened around the base of Stiles' tails, only to --

Claws dug into Derek's ankles as Stiles fought for leverage. The sounds he made took on a different pitch. His tails were tense, his scent changed _just so_ \--

Derek _howled_. He let go of Stiles' tails and grabbed his hips, pulling Stiles onto his knot. There was a soft _yip_ , quickly followed by a moan. Stiles didn't so much as scramble away as to push back, and Derek's knot slipped in, swelling more.

Locking them together.

Derek rolled them over, spreading Stiles flat under him. Stiles raised his hips, a hand between his legs, stroking himself off. Derek thrusted, his movements shallow, and bit Stiles' shoulder when Stiles came, his hole tightening against Derek's knot and squeezing out his climax.

Derek collapsed on top of Stiles, winding arms tightly around him, in case Stiles somehow managed to wriggle free.

"My clever wolf," Stiles whispered after they'd both come to. He petted Derek tenderly. There was a faint smirk on his lips that made Derek at once grimace and kiss the bite on Stiles' shoulder in pre-emptive apology.

"I'm going to pay for this, aren't I?" Derek asked. 

"Only if you leave me," Stiles warned, baring his teeth.

"Never," Derek promised. "You're _mine_ , kit."

* * *

68.

**Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

He gets into the habit of falling asleep on the couch. It's not that he hates his room now, except, well, maybe he does a little. It's too empty without Derek up there and, worse, he's been dreaming about After lately.

There's only one After for Stiles: when every blink of his eyes made the memory of carnage and bodies sharper in his mind. The never-ending movie of the Nogitsune's kills playing out over and over in his head. 

The nightmares had been _choice_. It'd been a week before he could try sleeping and not puke up dinner. 

It's not that bad now, but it's not good either. The late nights in the preserve mean there's no warmth to curl into, no voice to sooth away the demon's claws, and Stiles just can't face the bedroom alone.

So the couch. 

The first few times, he's awake and up before Derek makes it into the house. He usually manages to be puttering around the kitchen by the time boots hit floor and lips brush his neck, but he knows he's not fooling anybody.

Least of all himself. 

Still, he kisses Derek goodbye in the afternoon, spends the rest of the evening working, then makes a cup of coffee and goes for the couch. The blanket Melissa and Dad made for him is waiting and he curls up to watch Jaws. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Quint's nails on the chalkboard (whatever, it works). 

The dreams are empty, ominous for what he can't see more than what he can, and he wakes up a few times with a hand outstretched. He's never quite sure what he's reaching for, but he can almost feel it, and the last time he drifts off, he can almost hear someone crying. 

Maybe him. 

When he wakes next, there's a hand pressed against his back and the steady rhythm of a heart beating beneath his ear. He doesn't look up, just takes a slow, deep breath and tries hard to melt into Derek's body.

"You could have told me, you know," Derek says, after a while, his hand starting a slow arc up and down Stiles' back. 

It should relax him, but he just squirms into it. "Could have: didn't." 

Derek snorts. "No point in asking why, right?"

Stiles looks up at him, grinning when he's rewarded with a quick flash of blue eyes. He barely has a second before they're moving, him punctuating it with a yelp, and Derek's pressing him down into the couch. It's totally not fair of him to do that, he _knows_ what it does to Stiles, but that's kind of the point and, heyyyyy, claws at the shorts. Claws at the shorts.  
Claws _inside_ the shorts.

"Careful with those," he warns, but his heart's already racing and he knows Derek can read him as easy as any book. He loves this. It's a guaranteed argument-winner with Stiles any day of the week. (Except when it isn't. Shut up, he can have layers.)

"Why?" Derek asks and his grin hints at teeth still hidden. Stiles bites his lip and pushes up into him. "Afraid?"

No.

Stiles looks at him, blue-eyed, not-quite changed, and no, he's not. Which, yeah, totally the whole point here. Some days, still, he can't trust himself, but he can always, always trust this and he pulls Derek down into a kiss. 

The hand in his shorts curls around him, jacks in a awkward rhythm, but that's good. Right. They can't get the right angle with Derek pressing him down like this, but Stiles isn't going to let him move and they both know it. 

Reluctant, Derek lets him go in favour of holding his hands instead. He presses them, one-handed, back over Stiles' head and leans into kiss him. Claws prick at his skin, counterpoint to the slow grind of Derek's body against his and Stiles lets himself get lost in it. He needs this, fuck how he needs this, drifting on the pleasure, the presence, and the certainty of safety right here and right now. 

Claws dig into his hands and Derek grinds down hard enough to make his head swim. "Afraid?" he repeats, quieter this time. 

Stiles shakes his head. 

Derek kisses him. 

"Next time? Tell me."

He won't, but for now, he knows Derek will let him have the lie.

* * *

69.

**Warnings:** first time, painful sex, knotting  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

1/2

When it happens, Stiles’s whole body seizes up like he’s been electrocuted, if being electrocuted feels like getting split the fuck in half from the ass end up. The noise he makes is neither a moan nor a shout; it simply emerges from somewhere deep in his belly like a ghost that’d been trapped in there finally found its way up and out toward the light. It’s embarrassing, he should be embarrassed, but right now Stiles is too busy worrying about other stuff. Like how the fuck he’s going to survive the next hour.

Derek--Derek, bless him, looks like he’s either about to come, pass out, or call the whole thing off, looking down at Stiles’s face with so much concern it’d almost be touching if he weren’t currently responsible for making Stiles feel this way. Which is to say really, really fucking good, but also like he might die at any moment. He’s made jokes before about Derek having the peen of death based on his past track record, but he never really realized how accurate that might be until right this second.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps out, even with every fibre of his being screaming, _Abort, abort!_

He clutches at Derek’s biceps so hard that his nails dig into the muscle. He can see Derek thinking about it, forehead sheened with sweat and creased in worry, his lip caught sweetly between his teeth. Obligingly, Derek pushes in a little farther, the hard swell of his knot slipping that much deeper inside Stiles’s body, only to freeze again when Stiles makes an involuntary, choked-off noise of pleasure-pain, eyes rolling back in his head. His prostate feels like there’s a fist pushing against it relentlessly.

“Don’t stop,” he wheezes again. This time he slides his hands up into Derek’s hair so he can grab hold, keep their faces close. When he speaks, the words emerge half against Derek’s lips and half against his cheek. “I want it, don’t stop.”

Stiles never thought he’d be the one having to talk Derek into giving him his knot, considering he was still a noob at all this and had never had anything bigger than a few fingers up his own ass prior to today. Hell, as of two hours ago, he’d only ever made it to second base with another person, and now here he was, on his back with his legs in the air, cradling the sweaty, heavy weight of Derek’s body while Derek attempts to knot him. He may as well be shoving a baseball bat up there, or that’s what it feels like. Certainly, it’s nothing he planned for; they just kissed for the first time a week ago. It was inevitable, maybe, they’d end up in bed eventually, because Stiles isn’t much one for restraint and Derek is hot like burning, but he really, really hadn’t banked on his first proper look at Derek’s dick also involving firsthand proof that werewolf junk comes equipped with a little extra sumthin’ sumthin’.

“This, um,” Derek had said, blushing a furious shade of red. “This seriously never happens.”

It’s no one’s fault but Stiles’s that he never met a challenge he could walk away from. With a shrug, he’d just wrapped a hand around the swollen flesh at the base of Derek’s cock and said, “Don’t hold out on me now, big guy.”

Famous last words.

He can only imagine what it must feel like to Derek, though; it feels amazing enough when Stiles fucks his Fleshjack, and that’s not remotely comparable to a real, live boy. The way Derek’s eyes had rolled back until the whites showed when Stiles so much as gave the knot a gentle squeeze with his fingers. He and Scott were _so_ having a talk later about certain things he’d seen fit not to tell Stiles about before.

“Give it to me,” he pants when Derek buries his face in Stiles’s throat, gasping hotly. “You’re gonna make me come my face off, you don’t even know, don’t make me beg.”

“I’ve got to be hurting you,” Derek chokes out, pulling back to meet Stiles’s eyes. He looks _destroyed_.

And yeah, he is, there’s no doubt Stiles will be walking funny for the next week, but he somehow manages to smirk and cants his hips up invitingly. _More_. He glides his lips along the shell of Derek’s ear. There’s no mistaking how hard, how needily, Derek shudders against him.

“Do your worst,” he whispers. 

And Derek? Derek does.

* * *

70.

**Warnings: None.  
Pairing: Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura**

 

They’re lying side by side on Scott’s bed. When he leans in to kiss her, Kira rushes into it. They’re the only two people in the world or so it feels. It’s not their first time. It won’t be their last time. 

Their summer was like writing a paper about ‘What I did on my Summer vacation’ supernatural style. They’ve trained with Scott’s pack, they’ve gone to movies, they’ve fought, they’ve laughed, they’ve cried. In the middle of it though, Kira was falling in love. His eyes, the things that had attracted her at first when she saw that glint of otherworldly color, are still her favorite thing about him. 

“Scott,” she whispers while he kisses down her neck. She moves to the side to give him a better angle and hums happily when he bites down lightly on her collarbone. “Scott.”

“What?”

“I want…”

He stops and looks up at her with his chin propped on her belly. “Tell me what you want.”

“Don’t laugh.” Her stomach flips over and over with nerves. 

“Kira,” his tone is soft. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I want - “ she stops. She can’t say it, can she? She can’t say that she wants him to be part wild, part wolf. She wants him wildly. 

He crawls up her body. Chest to chest, she loves the feel of his weight on her. He’s so warm all of the time. So warm in every way. 

“What do you want?” He’s breathing heavy. Their lips are a scant inch apart and she can feel him hard against her thigh. 

“Your eyes.” 

“Yeah?”

They glint red for a flash. 

“Oh god,” she mutters. 

“Really? That makes you hot?”

She turns away, shame coloring her cheeks pink. He tries to trap her chin but she jerks out of his touch. She can feel the skin of his forehead as he leans it against her temple. He talks, lips brushing along the line of her jaw. 

“I got hard the first time you cut loose with that Kitsune stuff.”

“I was in the middle of a puddle holding onto an electrical wire. That got you hot?”

“Hard,” he corrects. 

His lips are now brushing back and forth. She can feel his lips closing and opening and she breathes out. Her hands, traitors that they are, pull at his shirt wanting to get at skin, at his skin. Now, she turns her head towards him. Their mouths meet and it’s almost angry but she knows better. It’s not anger that makes them pull at shirts and shorts, throwing them and not caring where they land. Clothes gone, time together like this makes her less inhibited and she knows where he wants touched. Dragging her fingers up his back, she digs her nails in just under his shoulderblades. His hands, move lower and then move quickly, taking her up to an edge, rubbing hard while she arches up to meet him. She tugs at him, willing his body onto hers. 

“Kira.”

She looks up at him and almost tries to back away. His features, wolfed out with sideburns elongated and teeth sharp and narrow, make her want to move away but then she looks at his eyes. They’re that warm red of a summer bonfire and she relaxes back against the pillow. 

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she breathes out. “Definitely okay.”

She keeps her eyes open, watching him, watching those eyes deepen towards a bloody garnet. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she digs her heels in hard against his ass, willing him faster. Only when he’s seconds away from coming, does he close his eyes. 

And when they open back up, they’re back to the beautiful Scott brown that she knows. She pets the side of his face where his sideburns had been only seconds before. 

“Okay?” Scott asks again. 

She only nods this time in response. He buries his nose into the side of his neck, scenting all over, and when she feels his lips spread into a smile, she smiles back.

* * *

71.

**Warnings.  
Pairing: Derek/Nogitsune!Stiles**

“Sorry,” Stiles says, head not lifting from Derek’s pillow. “I couldn’t sleep at my own house. Felt weird.”

“So you thought you’d take my bed?” Derek asks, settling himself on the edge of the mattress. Stiles doesn’t answer, just stretches his spine and points his toes, curls around Derek’s pillow. His baggy sweatpants twitch up at the back of his thigh and Derek stills. A moment passes where the hairs on his arms stand up and Derek pounces, pinning Stiles to the bed, hand wrapped around the back of the boy’s neck.

“You’re not him,” Derek spits. “You’re just wearing his face.”

It doesn’t even fight Derek. Instead, tilts his head to look up at Derek, eyes ill-looking. Sad pull of his eyebrows, iris and whites going glassy. 

“Don’t you trust me, Derek?” It asks, and It sounds so much like Stiles, because the entire basis of their friendship is built on that word. 

“No, because you’re not him,” Derek grits out. Stiles’ shoulders slump, defeated face crumpling. The scent he’s emitting pulls at Derek, and he lets his grip go a little looser, thinking that maybe he’s mistaken. It’s the wrong move, however, because that moment of weakness allows something to break his grip entirely as it wraps around his wrist. Something else, just as soft, grabs the other.

At once, Stiles is on him. Derek’s the one being pinned, and Stiles’ teeth are bared in a puckish grin. 

“Look at you,” Stiles says, right against his ear, hands against his chest. The skin of his cheek rasps against Derek’s beard as he drags his face across his jaw; nestles his face against Derek’s neck and takes in a lungful of air through his nose, scenting him. “Stiles loved being right here. Face buried against your throat. You smell just as he told me you would.”

“And what’s that?” Derek asks. He can feel the fox smile against his neck, the nip of his teeth before he answers.

“Defeat,” Stiles says against his skin. Derek closes his eyes, turns his face away, because he remembers what it felt like. He couldn’t move his body, but Stiles’ hot breath and shorn hair against his chin and neck is not something he’ll ever forget. 

“He was so afraid you all were going to die that he couldn’t even appreciate that you were his companion. But I can,” It whispers, licking up his neck and rolling his hips into Derek’s. 

Derek’s eyes fly open at the sensation, and he can see what he’s being held down with. It’s a tail, fluid and prehensile, wrapped around a wrist, and when he clenches the muscles in his forearm it twines further. He turns his head to look, wants to see the other side, but he’s met with Stiles sucking a mark into his collarbone, which makes Derek hard. Stiles removes his mouth to look Derek in the face, and Derek feels the creature’s hands moving between them, shoving down his sweats, and Derek’s surprise must show on his face.

“Do you like them?” Stiles asks through a smile, because Derek can see more extremities, now that they’re not being confined in his sweats. Stiles’ works Derek’s jeans open, gets his cock free, but Derek is concentrating on the steady swish of two tails over Stiles’ shoulder. He can feel another coiling around his thigh as Stiles adjusts his body so their dicks are aligned. 

“Jesus Christ,” Derek murmurs. “How many do you have?”

“I’m a thousand years old,” It whispers. “Take a wild guess.” And then another curls around both of their cocks, starts to jerk them off. Twisting round and round and making Derek arch into it, gasp when the nogitsune seals his mouth against Derek’s. Stiles is rutting against him, the steady winding of his tail seemingly not enough to satisfy him. He bites Derek’s lip as he bucks against him, draws blood though the wound seals in seconds. Stiles licks it away, amber eyes glowing down at Derek.

“Next time,” Stiles groans. “I’m going to slick one of my tails up and I’m going to fuck you with it,” he growls against his mouth, and Derek comes without warning. Warm, sticky fluid over his stomach and Stiles’ tail. The orgasm makes his toes curl and his eyes roll back into his head, but he can see the blackened veins in the nogitsune’s corded throat, and knows It’s drawing on Derek’s pleasure. It comes all over Derek a moment later.

* * *

72.

**Warnings: beta-xeno (?), knotting, deep throating/gagging  
Pairing: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale **

Claws raked up Stiles bare skin, making him shudder as he leaned back against Derek’s chest, his throat exposed, his hands grasping at Scott who stood before him. With an open mouth, Stiles moaned as Derek marked his neck, the sharp feel of fangs against his skin caused his knees to buckle beneath him. Scott, too, licked at Stiles’ neck as he pressed his body against Stiles’ front. 

The two of them were wolfed out as they marked Stiles, scenting him as their own. Scott’s claws were out, scraping across his stomach as Derek had his arms wrapped around Stiles’ middle. Stiles gulped, his eyes closing as he felt Scott’s hand wrap around their erections, stroking them both as he felt Derek’s cock sliding between his thighs. Scott rut his hips against Stiles, fucking up into his own hand as Stiles struggled keep his breathing under control. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, biting down on his own lip before Scott’s mouth found his, their lips crashing together. Stiles licked into Scott’s mouth, fangs catching on Stiles’ tongue as he carded his fingers through Scott’s hair, yanking it as Derek nipped at his earlobe. 

“What--” 

Stiles didn’t have time to ask what was happening before both Scott and Derek fell to their knees, Scott taking Stiles’ cock into his mouth as Derek spread his cheeks, his tongue probing at his entrance. Stiles held onto Scott’s head, his head falling forward as he rocked his hips back and forth, not knowing if he wanted more of Scott’s mouth or Derek’s. Scott looked up at him with red eyes, his mouth full of his cock. 

“Shit, you guys, I --”

As if on cue, Scott and Derek resituated themselves, Derek cupping Stiles’ face, stepping around in order to kiss him as Scott handed Stiles the lube, his own clawed hand unable to prep him. Scott spread Stiles’ cheeks as he fucked himself with two fingers, slick with lube. 

“Come on,” Scott said, his head falling to rest against Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes as Scott’s impatience as Derek returned to marking his skin. He’d be completely covered by the night’s end. Stiles liked being marked; he liked the physical representation of what they did since neither Scott nor Derek could be bruised the way he could. 

“I’m ready,” Stiles said, pulling his fingers out of his ass, his hand sliding down Scott’s thigh, smearing it with lube as Scott pressed inwards, holding tight to Stiles’ waist. Stiles groaned, the sound enveloped by Derek’s mouth as they kissed once more, deepening the kiss as Scott fucked him. Derek’s claws caught on Stiles’ nipples as they kissed, raking over them until Stiles shook between them. 

“Oh, god,” Stiles gasped as Derek stepped away from him, his hands sliding down Derek’s torso as Scott bent Stiles over, holding onto his shoulder as he thrust into him repeatedly. Stiles, his mouth hanging open, moaned as Derek took his cock in hand, rubbing it against Stiles’ lips before sliding it into his mouth. Stiles held onto Derek’s thighs, his fingers digging into him as Derek held onto the back of Stiles’ head, fucking his mouth as Scott’s pace quickened. 

Stiles could feel Scott’s knot getting bigger inside of him as his movements slowed, his mouth on Stiles’ back as he licked up his spine, a hand wrapped around Stiles’ cock. Derek, too, filled Stiles’ mouth with his knot. Stiles, his eyes stinging, tears rolling down his cheeks from the strain, looked up at Derek’s blue eyes, at his feral, wolfed out form. Stiles came, his eyes closing as he was held in place between the two of them. 

Scott thrust within him in short bursts as he came, filling Stiles up as Derek stilled, the feel of his claws in Stiles’ hair, digging into his scalp making Stiles groan as he felt Derek spill down his throat. Stiles coughed, gagging as he sputtered, come dripping down his chin onto the floor before them.

Above him, he could tell that Derek and Scott kissed, as Derek’s hands left his head, cupping Scott’s face with his own. Stiles breathed through his nose as best he could, waiting for the knots to go down. Once they did, he was sore, but fully satiated as he rubbed at his aching jaw. The three of them curled up on the couch, wrapping their arms around each other. 

“I smell like you both, now.” 

“Like pack,” Scott agreed.

* * *

73.

**Warnings:** Heat sex/fuck or die related dubcon.   
**Pairing:** Derek/Chris

"Stay back," Derek growled. He was hiding in the shadows, but his glowing blue eyes let Chris know exactly where he was. 

Chris wasn't sure what Kate had done to Derek, but between the eyes and the way his words were slurred by fangs, he was pretty sure it wasn't good. "I'll call Scott—"

"No!" Derek yelled and it came out almost like a roar, echoing around the ruined building. 

"Everyone's looking for you." Chris said. "What happened?"

Derek took a long time to answer but he finally did, spitting out each word angrily. "She wanted to fuck me. When I said no she triggered a heat."

Chris sucked in a surprised breath. He'd always thought heats were just myths. "Did she…?"

"No," Derek bit out. "Never again. Not her."

"That's good. That's good, Derek." His sister had done enough to Derek without adding drugging and raping to the list. Unfortunately all of the myths about heats agreed on one thing: Derek was going to have to fuck someone or go mad. "Is there someone I should call?"

"No."

"Derek," Chris said gently. "You'll go mad if you don't—"

"No," Derek repeated. He stepped out of the shadows and revealed that he was in full beta transformation. "I can't change back. I won't risk hurting anyone."

Chris took a deep breath. "Another werewolf could handle it. I'm sure Scott—"

"I won't fuck a child," Derek snapped, his fangs clacking together on the last word. 

"Of course." Each and every time Derek was presented with an easy option he took the harder, higher ground. Chris respected that. He respected Derek and the last thing he wanted was for him to suffer more at the hands of the Argent family. Making up his mind Chris untucked his shirt and started unbuckling his belt. "Do you trust me Derek?"

"Yes," Derek answered and Chris was surprised at how much it pleased him to hear that.

"Then trust that I can handle it."

Derek hesitated for another few seconds, but by the time Chris was naked he surged forward. He grabbed Chris by the arms, his claws digging in just shy of drawing blood and pushed him down onto his hands and knees. "Don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I trust you." 

Derek whined and spread Chris' cheeks, licking a hot stripe up his crack before settling in to lave at his hole. Chris gasped and dropped forward onto his elbows. He'd never been rimmed before, but each caress of Derek's tongue felt amazing. 

Derek slowly worked his tongue into Chris' body, loosening the muscles and opening him up. Chris may have started this out of a sense of obligation, but by the time Derek was stabbing into him with his tongue, he was hard and dripping precome onto the floor. 

Derek pulled back. "Need to knot."

"Do it."

"It _will_ hurt," Derek warned and Chris knew that if he said "no" now, Derek would stop and let the heat burn him to death. Derek was the strongest person he knew.

"I can handle it." He closed his eyes and spoke the shameful truth. "I want it."

Derek whined again, a pleased sound, and mounted him. That was the only word for what happened. One minute Chris was empty and the next he was full. It hurt, burning more than he'd imagined, but he knew Derek was too far gone to hold back so he gritted his teeth and accepted each long thrust. 

Eventually Derek's dick brushed over his prostate and Chris' entire body lit up, pleasure overriding the pain, and he writhed back, trying for more. He wondered what his father would say if he could see him now—on his knees for a werewolf being fucked to within an inch of his life…and liking it.

Derek ground forward one last time and bit down gently on the back of Chris' neck, holding him in place while his knot expanded impossibly wide in Chris' ass. The stretch hurt, but the pressure against his prostate felt amazing. The mix of pleasure and pain overwhelmed him and he passed out as he came. 

When he woke he was on his side cradled in Derek's arms. They were still locked together by the knot. 

"I'm sorry," Derek whispered.

"I'm not." Sure he'd be sore for a few days, but he'd actually enjoyed himself and more importantly Derek was alive. Chris covered Derek's hand with one of his own and squeezed gently.

* * *

74.

**Warnings: slight xeno-kink**   
**Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

It was cold out, colder than a night in May had any right to be. Stiles didn't worry. Derek's a big bad wolf with natural fur even in his human form now that he'd stopped shaving, not that it mattered because he'd run off all fangs and claws and retro sideburns.

Stiles rubbed his bare arms because, hello, state of undress and arousal. He imagined that there'd be a special place in hell for people who leave certain other people hot and bothered in scary dark forests to fend for themselves; he imagined it vividly and in great detail.

“Just for the record,” he told the trees, “making out in the woods was not actually my idea.” Well. It was a little bit his idea. A spur of the moment thing.

He found Derek near the place where the Hale house used to be. Sometime in the last year the county had torn it down and left nothing but bad memories. Derek was pacing, head bowed, pale moonlight on his bare shoulders. Stiles' heart lurched in his chest. For all that Derek had issues and communicated primarily in sarcastic eye rolls and eyebrow movement, Stiles knew the set of his shoulders, knew that he was struggling with something big.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Derek whipped around, startled expression on his face, and Stiles realized that he hadn't noticed him at all. Derek who still slept fitfully and woke with every unusual sound, who walked into a room and immediately found all the exits, hadn't sensed him in his approach. Huh.

“Stiles, you need to go.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I need a hot bath, dude, and a new subscription to SWTOR, but what I don't need is my boyfriend being an evasive lurker.”

“Stiles! Just go.”

Derek's vehemence took him aback for all of three seconds, until Stiles realized that Derek's eyes were glowing. “Whoa, Derek, you okay?” Derek looked wolfy and out of it, as bad as Scott had been in those first crazy days after the bite.

Stiles smiled. “Hey, it's okay. Whatever's got you so worked up, we're going to squash it.”

“There's no- Stiles, it's not-”

Oh. Wow. It all made sense in a rush of realization. Derek had been losing control when they were having sex. It explained all the weirdness of the last few days, all the moments when Stiles thought they might be having problems, that Derek was maybe losing interest in him, spending more time in the bathroom than in bed together.

_“Oh.”_

Derek twisted away but Stiles wouldn't have it. He stepped into Derek's space and grabbed him by the shoulders, leaning in because that's where he belonged. He went for the kiss as Derek flinched. “Dude, just let me,” Stiles said and grinned. He licked one of the fangs, tongued it like it was a piece of precious jewelry. “There's nothing about you that isn't beautiful.” He gently tugged at the elf-like ears to draw a whimper out of Derek. Stiles rested one hand on the back of Derek's neck and squeezed. He could feel the tension under his fingers, the urge to run away.

“I can't control it,” Derek whispered, despair evident in his voice.

Stiles smiled. “Of course you can. You've got that wolfy side locked up tighter than a prisoner in Alcatraz. But I think, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think I make you feel like you don't have to hide it.”

Derek whined. “Stiles.”

They kissed, hard and sloppy, with Derek's fangs nicking the soft skin of Stiles' bottom lip. “Come on,” Stiles gasped. “Don't hold back. You don't have to hold back with me.”

Derek growled, maneuvered them backward until Stiles felt rough tree bark at his back. Derek still looked a bit uncertain, blue eyes glowing in the dark. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Stiles cocked his hip, grinding his erection against Derek's thigh. “I want you to bite me.”

Derek froze. “What?”

Grinning, Stiles slid his hands down Derek's back to grab his ass. “I want you to fuck me, hard and fast and without thinking so damn much. And when you come, I want to feel you inside me, your teeth, your dick, everything.”

Derek licked his lips. “You're sure.” It wasn't a question.

Stiles nodded and bared his throat. “Come on, show me what you got, Pup.”

* * *

75.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Lydia  
"Harder," Lydia grunts out, arching forward so she can grab hold of the edge of the mattress, the metal frame biting into the soft skin of her fingers. The worn material of the top she's wearing drags against her hard nipples. 

Derek's pounding her from behind, one hand down on the mattress next to her for leverage. He's being rougher with her than he usually is, Derek's normally so gentle, he lays her down, fucks her slowly, _makes love_ to her. He gets off on that, he gets off on the soft sighs, and the slow spiral into orgasm. 

But not Lydia, no, she likes this. She likes face down, ass up, rug burn on her knees and elbows. She likes feeling it the next day, the dull ache that says that Derek's given her everything he's got, that he's understood how breakable she's not, that he can show her every part of himself and she won't cower, she'll welcome it with open arms. 

Lydia's two orgasms down, her cunt is puffy and swollen, her clit is slick and hard, every touch to it, direct or not, pushes her further toward another orgasm.

" _Lydia_." Derek's long passed anything but her name, just her name, and wordless groans. 

His pace slows until she's shoving back against him, clenching around his dick. She wants more, now. A frustrated noise slips from her lips as Derek slides a hand gently, but firmly between them, down to where he's buried in her cunt. 

"Derek..." she whines as she grinds back against him. He stops her with a firm hand on her hips, sure to leave marks in the morning. "Give me more." 

A thick finger pushes inside and her breath hitches, head falling forward and hair cascading, blocking the room from sight. His thumb reaches up and strokes at her clit, firmly circling, just how she likes it. 

When she's this fucked out, sometimes it takes a little bit more to tighten her cunt up. The thrusts slowly start back up, Derek's finger stroking in time. 

She knows he's getting close when he becomes a solid weight on her back, nose buried in the worn out henley she's wearing, she can hear the deep inhales over the loud sound of them fucking, the slap of flesh on flesh. 

"You like it, huh?" She's trying to ride his hand, riding herself toward her orgasm, clenching tight to bring Derek along with her. "You like it when I smell like you? When other people can see me in your clothes, know that I've got someone, because they'd never be mine, would they?" The words come between thrusts that have her holding onto the edge of the creaking mattress. 

 

His thumb is still circling with steady precision even though his thrusts are becoming erratic, he's close, so close. His hand stutters as he comes, pulling out to blindly search hers out, warm from her body he entwines their fingers together. Her palms are scored with the marks of the bed frame, his are slick with her juices. 

"Love you smelling like me, inside and out," he mumbles, breath hot on the small of her back, henley rucked up so he can feel her skin. "Love people knowing that we're each others, love that you want to be mine."

"Love you too, Derek." She buries her smile into the mattress, clenches around his softening cock. He gasps, slowly withdraws and replaces his dick with his fingers.

They stay in position as he swipes a finger through the hot come that runs out of her. She pushes down and feels him draw it up, paint her throbbing lips with it, her dusting of pubic hair already plastered to her skin. 

One hand tangles in the henley, stretching it out as he starts roughly bringing her off, thrusting in and out, circling slowly, maddeningly around her clit. Even as she tries to move her hips, to buck back against him he stops her, makes her wait for her last orgasm, lets it build, slowly, slowly. 

Her muscles tense, her body stills, as if frozen as her orgasm washes over her, pure bliss that plateaus before it spirals out of control. Until she lets her legs slip from under her as she collapses onto the bed, Derek following suit beside her. 

"Mmm, I should borrow your shirts more often."

The only response is a snuffly grunt from her side, Derek's face buried between her and the mattress.

* * *

76.

**Warnings:** underage  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Isaac/Scott

The plug is _much_ bigger than it looked online. Stiles isn’t sure it’s going to fit; the widest girth is bigger than his hand. However, the documentation promises _The most realistic Alpha knot experience you’ll ever have without the Alpha!_ He’s more than willing to try it.

He’s just glad his dad left early for work, because it takes half a bottle of lube to get it in while he makes noises he wasn’t aware he was capable of. He is stretched open, the plug thoroughly seated, his dick is limp from the effort. His nerves are on fire—he feels like it wouldn’t take much to get him up if he tried.

Stiles considers it for maybe three seconds, but he’s already late to school and with only a month left before graduation, he doesn’t want to fuck up his chance to finally escape high school. He yanks on his boxers, pulls up his loosest pair of sweats, and prays he can manage to sit still for an entire day.

He is going to have the best Stiles-happy-time when he gets home. The _best_. He just has to make it through the day.

#

By mid-afternoon, he’s barely able to walk. He limps into English and sinks into the chair, wiggling to find a position that doesn’t drive the plug further in. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all. It moves constantly, like he’s knotted and tied and still going about his daily business. All Stiles wants is to get it _out_ , but he still has three periods to go… and one of them is gym.

The thought makes him sink down in his chair, whining.

“You reek, dude.” Scott sits next to him.

Isaac flanks him, smirking. “Were you jerking off in the locker room?”

“That was _once_ in _sophomore year_ ,” Stiles whispers angrily. “Let it go.”

“All day you’ve smelled like you want to be fucked.” Scott leans in close to him. “Seriously, dude, are you going to jizz in your pants during class?”

_Jizz in his pants_. His dick twitches weakly, then goes limp again. Stiles bites his lip, glancing between them, not sure he wants to answer.

Gentle fingers at the nape of his neck are unexpected. “We’ll skip gym,” Isaac murmurs. “Take care of you.”

Stiles aches too much to say no.

#

“Holy shit.” Isaac brushes against the plug. “I’m going to fuck him first, then you, Scotty. Okay?”

Stiles nods, frantic. “Just get it out, _please_.”

It’s such a _relief_ , leaving him empty, aching _,_ so _fucking_ wet from all the lube he used. Isaac slides in like nothing and it feels so _good_ , slick and rough, thrusting hard and deep and fast. Scott takes Stiles’s dick in his mouth, laving his length, tracing the veins and circling the head until Stiles cries out.

“Fuck.” Isaac jerks and comes, filling Stiles with his heat. “Scott, he’s so fucking ready for you.”

Scott is already inside of Stiles before he remembers: “Fuck, Scott, you’re an _alpha_.”

Scott nips at Stiles’s shoulder. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? An alpha’s knot?”

Stiles whimpers in response and _ohfuckinggod_ , Isaac’s mouth is a fucking dream. He lets Stiles tangle his fingers in Isaac’s curls and drive deep.

Scott grunts, his knot is swelling, stretching Stiles, making it harder to move. 

“Fuck,” Stiles swears under his breath. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, tongue soothing gentle nips to his shoulder. Hips twitch, fucking the knot deeper with aching slowness until Stiles can’t help but lose control.

The orgasm starts at his toes, shivering through his entire body, leaving him shaking and limp, jizz sprayed down Isaac’s throat and across his face. Scott growls and comes, one arm wrapped around Stiles’s waist, holding him up. Stiles feels so _full_ ; he’s going to be dripping and aching for days.

But it’s _good_. It’s so _fucking_ good.

“I love you, dude.” It’s just fact, because not every guy would do this for his bro.

“Any time,” Scott says, smiling fondly.

“The real thing’s always better than a plug,” Isaac tells him, and Stiles guesses he must know from experience. He has to agree: it was fucking _amazing_.

Scott gently pulls him down to the floor; they curl there, all three together, warm and limp and sated. Thankfully they’ve got time before class is over, because really, the last thing Stiles needs today is to get caught by Finstock while Scott’s dick is tied in his ass.

* * *

77\. 

**Warnings: dubcon, magic-made-them-do-it, knotting, marking, beta-form Derek**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

Stiles hears fabric tear as Derek wrenches his shirt off his shoulder.

His mark burns as Derek tugs his head down by the hair, inhaling against Stiles’ skin. Derek licks and sucks along the stretched muscle of his neck, from earlobe to clavicle.

Derek growls low, breath hot. "How did you not stop and think of all the ways this could go wrong?"

-

Stiles rifles through the worn, moth-bitten pages of a musty book. “It seems easy enough.”

“Have you done magic before?”

“Other than that badass mountain ash circle, you mean?”

“Can you even read French?”

Stiles wants to mock Derek’s tone, but he also wants to live. “Uh, I took French freshman year. I think that’s a step up from nothing.”

Derek doesn’t even bother looking up from whatever box he’s rummaging through. “Put it back.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. _Yeah, sure. Safety first, says Safety Expert_ Derek Hale.

They’ve got 24 hours, maybe, to get Derek’s wolfie face back and Derek wants to play it safe.

Of course, the book could be helpful... if only Stiles had the time to peruse without Derek being all, “No, Stiles, that’s dangerous, Stiles, I need a safe way to get my wolfitude back so I can claw the throats out of a horde of wild magic sasquatches.”

Or whatever.

Stiles doesn’t see anyone else offering up any helpful suggestions.

He slips the book into his bag.

Stiles begs off for the night, pleading weak humanity, and sets off to work once he gets home; it's midnight when he finally finds it.

_High moon, the beast lies in sleep;_  
Awaken! Awaken!  
The beast stirs when brand is taken;  
Awaken! Awaken! 

-

The mark is small--Stiles didn’t think its size mattered so much as its symbolic nature--but it feels big.

He’s glad he chose a subtle location on his hip for it because he _knows_ , in his bones, that it won’t ever go away now.

Derek’s claws--oh god, _sharp claws_ \--rake lightly down his back, pausing at his ass to let the soft pads of his fingers grope cheeks. Stiles moans, feeling his cock and pucker twitch.

Stiles doesn’t even know how they’ve gotten to this point--Stiles rutting in wolfed-up Derek Hale’s lap, naked on his bed.

Derek clamps down on his shoulder with human teeth and suddenly, Stiles feels a gush of liquid squirting out his ass.

“Holy! What the fuck!” Stiles shouts, unable to resist reaching back and shoving two fingers up himself. It’s hot and tight. Stiles can’t hold his head up, leans down to suck a bruise behind Derek’s ear.

“I need to put my knot in you, _now_ ,” Derek grumbles, adding a--thankfully--human finger into the mix. His cock isn’t far off, nudging its way along Stiles’ crack.

His every action feels out of his control, movements on autopilot. Stiles brings his fingers to Derek’s lips and watches as he sucks them both off, scrapes them with fanged teeth. He levers Stiles by his ass, pulling cheeks apart with large, solid hands, onto his dick.

As Stiles sinks down, presses deep until he’s fully seated on Derek's cock, he realizes how thick Derek is. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, yelps as Derek leans back on the bed, taking Stiles with him. They roll so Stiles is on his back and Derek gains enough leverage to thrust. Stiles chokes off on a moan as Derek gets a few pumps in before quickly shifting them back around.

“Ride me,” Derek whimpers.

Stiles accepts the plea, rolling his hips around, ass rising and falling in tandem with Derek’s throaty mewling. And then he can’t, Derek’s knot grown abundant with seed and _where the fuck did that thought come from jesus fucking_ \--

The knot hits his prostate with _every. little. movement._

Every tug, every shift... It’s too much. Come shoots out his dick and covers Derek from navel to stupid werewolf-shaped forehead.

Derek howls, streams what feels like a flood of come into Stiles.

They pass out.

-

“I told you not to mess with magic,” Derek mutters.

“Whoa, hey, it worked, didn’t it? Your grumpywolf self is back, so we’re looking pretty good from my angle.” Stiles tugs at Derek’s still-full knot and surrenders a moan. “It--it was good?”

Derek sniffs, resolutely doesn’t look at Stiles. “What spell d'you find anyway?”

“Oh, this one?” Stiles shows Derek out of the book still at his bedside. “Awakening the beast or some shit.”

“Stiles, you idiot.”

“What?”

“That’s ‘mate’, not ‘beast’!”

* * *

78.

**Warnings:** toys ~~the sexy kind~~  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

Derek wanted the knot to fill him and claim him. Werewolves usually came to the club to bury themselves in someone, pin their human to the bed, knot swollen and tender. Derek never felt that need.

But no matter how many times he’d imagined being knotted, he’d never pictured Stiles pressed close to him in the darkness, saying, “I can help you. Do you trust me?”

The playroom Stiles took him to had a fairly spacious bed and assorted equipment that Derek didn’t even want to consider. He craned his neck a little and caught sight of some dildos, knots big and odd looking. Shit. He turned to look at Stiles, and calmed a little at the smile that made his eyes crinkle. 

“Not big on the dildos, eh?” 

Derek shook his head. 

“Don’t worry.” Stiles held something flesh-colored toward him. “It goes on my dick. It’s a fake knot, but here, feel it.”

It felt like flesh too. And shit, this was… His breath grew labored. 

He looked up to meet Stiles’s eyes, coming to the mind-numbing realization that he was going to be knotted by _Stiles_. In a sense. In the sense that mattered. 

He clutched the knot in his hand and moved forwards, emboldened by the privacy of the room and the fact that Stiles had offered him this. 

As they undressed, Derek let his touches linger and his lips press nipping kisses to random spots. But when Derek kneeled naked on the bed, Stiles took over, hands dragging over his hips, warm and purposeful.

Pressing his face into the covers, Derek tried to keep a tight grasp on his instincts, pushing back the need to shift. When a finger pressed at the tip of the plug in his ass, he jerked and Stiles hummed. 

“You’re prepared.”

Derek made a soft noise into the bed, a little mortified. He’d spent long minutes stretching himself open for the plug, wearing it for hours.

“So hot, Derek. So ready for my knot.” 

Derek’s fingers twisted into the covers, the wolf shifting ever closer to the surface. He moved his hips a little, rocking in place with his knees digging into the mattress. 

When Stiles pulled at the plug, easing it out of him, Derek focused on his breath as pleasure curled in his gut. The tip of a finger traced his rim, slow and careful. Derek pushed back into the movement, rapidly moving past the point of shame. 

There was no knot when Stiles’s cock sank into him, so, so slowly until Derek’s pulse was roaring in his ears. It was just the easy glide of Stiles’s cock and the press of Stiles’s hips against his. 

Derek let out a groan and pushed back onto Stiles’s cock, squeezing his eyes shut. It filled him so good, slamming into him harder as Stiles found his rhythm. 

“Stiles, come on,” he said, beyond the point of caring that he was begging. “Come on.”

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, okay.”

Derek had to bite back a whine when Stiles pulled out. He used the moment to center himself, calming the barely-contained instincts pushing his limits. He wanted to be knotted, he needed it, he’d wanted it for so long, he didn’t know he could have it with Stiles, it was—

His back arched as Stiles sank back in until the swell of the knot pressed against his rim and Derek cried out, claws popping out and piercing the cover. 

“Oh, shit,” Stiles said, fingers tightening on Derek’s hips. 

“ _In_ ,” Derek rasped, sounding barely human. 

There was no real control left when his skin was pulled impossibly tight around the knot. Stiles pressed into him, draping himself across Derek’s back as he filled him up. Derek whimpered into the covers, claws dug deep into the mattress and his teeth drew blood against his lips. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me knot you,” Stiles said, low, against his skin. “So fucking hot. Is it good?”

Derek couldn’t answer, only made breathy sounds as he rocked back against the swollen flesh keeping him open and stretched. 

For a moment, Stiles fumbled for something and then, without warning, the knot swelled even further, pushing at Derek’s hole until he couldn’t hold anything together anymore. He came, clamping down around Stiles, silent and shaking under the weight of Stiles pinning him down.


	4. Group D - with pairings and warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning -- Contains NSFW artwork!

79.

 **Warnings:** blood, bondage, blindfolded, nsfw  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  


* * *

80.

 **Warnings:** scratching  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

* * *

81.

 **Warnings:** blood-play  
 **Pairing:** Kanima!Jackson/M  


* * *

82.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**  


* * *

83.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles/Scott  


* * *

84.

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Warnings:** Blood, Scratching

* * *

85.

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warnings:** Knotting

* * *

86.

 **Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Kitsune**

87.

 **Warnings: Blood?**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

* * *

88.

 **Warnings:** solo act, sex toys, impulsive online shopping  
 **Pairing:** solo!Stiles, Stiles/sex toy  
 **Title:** Best. Purchase. Ever.

* * *

89.

 **Warnings:** Uhm, explicit?  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/unknown werewolf

* * *

90.

 **Warnings:** Slight D/s dynamics, I guess?  
 **Pairing:** Scisaac


	5. Group A - no warnings or pairings

1\. 

**Author's Note:** Established Relationship Future!AU where Stiles is in college and Derek also decides to go back to school and yeah I dunno they have a Really Fucking Nice Loft and stuff and Derek also wears his glasses more and starts taking Russian Lit classes and just being the Worst and Hottest version of himself possible.

*  
Derek is a mess leading up to the Blood Moon.

He drags Stiles away from his classwork with frantic eyes, ignoring squawks of protest. Going over detailed charts they drafted together (rather, that Derek traced while Stiles made occasional voice starts to take that old edge. 

The one that sounds a little like i-hate-myself and a lot like everything-i-love-is-everything-i-ruin. 

Stiles doesn’t let that slide.

When Derek is spread out on the floor in front of the couch, surrounded by hi-liters and pens and books that smell old and damp, Stiles drags him to sit between his spread legs. If he rubs the right spot beneath Derek’s left shoulderblade, Derek will shift seamlessly, arching up into Stiles’ long fingers. 

He’ll turn to nip at the heel of his hand with his fangs, let his eyes flutter shut as thumbs trace his heavy brow. Stiles lets his hands say what he can’t verbalize. Lets them say i trust you; you should sleep more; you’re precious to me.

As nights count down, Derek worries more. Ditches Tolstoyan Theology 455 in order to drive up to the mountains, where he shifts fully, running until his paws ache.

But as it turned out, the Blood Moon doesn’t make Derek more violent, or more aggressive - not even close.

*

“Stiles, please.”

He’d been insatiable since Stiles walked in the door - Stiles found him in their bedroom, an old tee shirt (a shrunken, hole-riddled relic of his high school days) balled in his fist. Derek was uncharacteristically loud, whining in his throat as he stroked himself.

And so yeah, Stiles had loosened the tie he wore to his final presentation on the Evolution of Druid Mythology in Scandinavian Europe, and let Derek fuck into his throat. And yeah, he’d had his one pair of dress pants clawed open, but if it meant he had an especially heavy-browed face between his thighs, claws audibly snagging against the carpet, who gave a fuck?

“What does it feel like?” Stiles asked, shoving blueberries into his swollen mouth. Having opened the blinds fully, the deep crimson of the full moon was more eerie and entrancing as he’d thought it would be. 

“Like everything around me is sharp,” Derek’s voice was muffled; he’d locked himself in the bathroom so Stiles could eat. The previous attempts they’d made to eat together had just resulted in a sticky mess on the counter next to the fridge, some nearly-too-deep bites on the back of Stiles’ neck, and the shredding of some once very beloved sweatpants. 

Stiles had come so hard he blacked out, Derek’s throat rippling as his nose pressed into the dark thatch of hair beneath Stiles’ navel.

“It’s like when you jump off the diving board - that second when you’re suspended in the air.” 

Stiles licked cantaloupe juice from his wrist, deciding fruit was a two-for-one blessing: what else could be both hydrating and filling? 

“That sounds kinda scary.”

“It is,” Derek’s voice was soft. “But you’re the water below.” 

Derek was quiet while Stiles washed out his bowl, then arranged himself on their bed, face-down. Stiles was just as vocal as ever, hissing as he pressed slick fingers into the tightness Derek had only eased his tongue into, unable to calm enough to retract his claws. 

“Come on out, Big Bad,” Stiles was too breathy to sound coy, fingers clumsy at this angle, skittering across his prostate, wringing high yips from his bruised throat.

Derek unlocked the bathroom door and was plastered against Stiles’ back immediately, setting his canines against purple marks on Stiles’ long neck. 

“Can I just -” Hot hands spanned the small of Stiles’ back as Derek trailed off, licking the taut skin behind the jut of Stiles’ jaw. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Spitting into his palm, Derek bracketed Stiles’ thighs with his own. After slicking his cock, wet sound of foreskin sliding over the head, Derek raised up, letting Stiles slick the tight skin behind his balls with his own saliva before tucking the head of Derek’s dick between his thighs.

Squeezing his legs together, Stiles rested on his elbows as Derek ploughed into the tight space where the hair was coarse, and dark - skin unmarked. Splotches of color heating his cheeks, his shoulder burned where stubble scraped against it, his cock leaked where it was trapped beneath his belly. Stiles rocked his hips back to counter each of Derek’s powerful thrusts.

“Derek, I need more.”

* * *

2.

The first time Derek knotted Stiles, it wasn't on purpose. Stiles was going down on him with a slick mouth and the suction deep and tight. Derek came like his orgasm had been shocked out of him, and then kept coming. Stiles practically had to unhinge his jaw to get the swollen bulb of Derek's knot out of his mouth, almost had to get his stomach pumped to keep from getting sick on Derek's come. 

But this time--this time they're ready. Stiles is slick and panting, as he should be. Derek's been slowly working him with his fingers for the past 20 minutes, now he's got four in, could probably manage his fist, and Stiles is strung out with it, rocking back and begging like he does sometimes, only managing to get the beginnings and ends of words out. 

"You like that?" Derek asks, because it's important, and Stiles always forgets to say yes unless he's asked.

Stiles makes a broken sound, then hisses, "Yessss," when Derek twists his fingers. "F- ugh. Ready. I'm ready."

Derek pets his free hand up Stiles' back, across his shoulders. "You sure?"

Stiles is on his hands and knees, ass in the air and cock hard against his belly. He summons enough power to lift his head up and look over his shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure, okay?" he says. "I think I'm know whether I'm ready to get fucked or not." 

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, at his sudden verbosity, but it doesn't matter, Stiles has already folded his arms onto a pillow and pressed his face into them. Derek doesn't have to be told again. He pulls his fingers out of the mess of Stiles' ass and lines his cock up, presses inside. Stiles groans so loud Derek swears he can feel the vibrations where their bodies meet: Derek's stomach, their thighs, and right to the base of Derek's cock. 

"Move," Stiles demands, and shoves himself backward. 

Just for that, Derek slams his hips forward.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck me," Stiles breathes, like he doesn't even know he's saying it, like he can't not.

Derek bottoms out and pulls back to slam in again, and hooks two fingers into Stiles mouth, and gets his other hand under Stiles to try and ring an orgasm out of him: the only sounds in the room are their breathing, Derek's balls slapping agains Stiles' ass, and the slick sound of the lube as Derek jerks at Stiles' cock. 

Stiles sucks on Derek's fingers, and Derek twists his hips to make Stiles groan. There's not a lot of room to move like this. He has almost no leverage, but it feels good, too good, and if they keep this up he's going to come before Stiles does. He doesn't though. It only takes another twist and a few jerks of his wrist before Stiles is spilling over his hand, dotting the sheets with come.

Derek can smell it, acidic and slightly bitter, but Stiles, it's Stiles. It smells like stiles and the scent is there, beneath them, on them, all around him, and Derek can't even move for the way it gut punches him, how he and Stiles and Stiles' come are the only thing he can smell.

"Fuck. Come on. Fuck me harder," Stiles pants, because Derek's stopped moving. So Derek does. Derek will fuck Stiles anyway he wants Derek to, whenever he wants. Derek is so fucking gone for him, and he can't stop, can't stop, can't stop, can't keep himself from digging his teeth into the spot at the back of Stiles' neck, letting his knot grow in Stiles' ass, and pressing his claws into the mattress. 

"Yes," Stiles hisses.. "Come on, come on. Are you coming?" 

"Close," Derek pants, and shoves in then out again. 

"I want you, I want you, I want you to," Stiles breathes, like a mantra, like a prayer, like he's so blissed out from coming that he can't say anything else. 

"Trying, trying," Derek says, but then he does, kisses Stiles' neck, collapses against him, and presses him into the mattress with his body so they can wait for the knot to go down, rubs I love yous into any part of Stiles that he can reach with his blunt, human hands.

* * *

3.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Peter gasped, arching under the press of silver claws to his back.

“Dude?” Stiles pulled back, shocked at the Peter’s reaction. “Are you… are you _enjoying_ this?”

Peter pulled hard against his restraints, the rowan-cored silver chains rattling as he chased Stiles’ retreating hand. “You’ve been carving a symbol into my back with rune-carved Pandora’s claws for the past twenty minutes,” he gasped out, shuddering. “What did you expect?”

Stiles swallowed and watched thin trails of blood drip down Peter’s well-muscled skin. The aura-sensing sigil was beautiful, and Stiles jolted at the realization that he _liked_ seeing Peter’s skin hold his mark. “Not this.” He reached out again and dragged a claw down Peter’s spine - not to mark him, but to watch Peter writhe.

“You’re going to act surprised that I’m masochistic?” Peter admonished breathlessly.

Stiles watched in fascination as the deep tears mended themselves into pink scars, the healing interrupted by the magic of the claws.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter groaned, pulling hard on the chains in an attempt to get closer. It worked - his back brushed against Stiles’ front, and Stiles leaned into it before he realized what he was doing. “Stiles, _please_.”

“Jesus,” Stiles hissed as he pressed his hips into Peter’s ass. Four years of thoroughly exploring his sexuality in college, and he’d managed to miss _this_?

The marking took on a new urgency as Stiles cut the symbol he’d inked out in advance. He kept the pressure steady, even, and deep, carving lines and knots mercilessly as Peter cried out and twisted against the cold brick wall. The abandoned station hadn’t been Stiles’ first choice, but it served its purpose. Stiles couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d be able to chain a werewolf by his wrists and ankles, spread-eagled facing the wall, without getting noticed.

It also meant that Stiles could do _other things_ without fear of being caught. Or judged.

“I like how much you’re enjoying this,” Stiles mused. “And here I thought that you being restrained, with nothing but jeans between you and your tormentor, would start to get old at some point.”

“Depends on the tormentor,” Peter hissed, the attempt at snark muted by the brokeness of his voice.

Stiles took a step back and pushed his hand against his erection, which had _really_ enjoyed both Peter’s words and the way they were spoken.

“Do it,” Peter begged. “Fuck me.” He looked stoned, eyes distant with lust, body sagging with a pliancy Stiles had never seen in Peter before.

“When the symbol is done,” Stiles promised huskily. He continued carving his mark into Peter’s back with unhurried concentration, biting and licking at Peter’s neck and shoulders while Peter panted and begged and writhed.

“Going to fuck you now,” Stiles growled when he was done, pulling down his own zipper before freeing Peter’s. He tugged Peter’s jeans down just enough to reveal his ass, opened wide by the forced spread of his legs.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Stiles,” Peter cried with a shudder. “Do it! Fuck me now!”

Fortunately, Stiles wasn’t in the habit of going anywhere unprepared. He retrieved a condom from his wallet, rolled it on, and slicked it up with lube from a small travel packet. He pressed into Peter slowly, relishing the cry it tore from Peter’s throat. Then Stiles pressed his claws to Peter’s neck, hard enough to mark, and started thrusting.

“You’re so good for me,” Stiles groaned. “Taking my mark, taking my cock. Making me come.”

“Yes, _yes_ , come,” Peter groaned, baring his throat to Stiles’ claws.

Stiles’ orgasm was unexpected and overwhelming. He shouted as he came, losing himself in Peter’s body for long, blissful moments as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. When he finally pulled out of Peter, he felt boneless and more sated than he could ever remember feeling after sex.

“Was it good?” Peter asked, sagging against his restraints.

“So good,” Stiles assured him, pulling up Peter’s jeans, ignoring the erection there. He finished freeing Peter, unbuckling him carefully before guiding him to sit against the wall. “We’ll get you home and cleaned up. And when we’re sure the mark worked, you’ll get your reward.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Peter sighed, leaning his head against Stiles’ thigh. “Whatever you want.”

Stiles grinned at the words and turned away, new plans already forming in his mind.

* * *

4.

Peter is chained firmly to the bed in the old basement, writhing and twisting on the bare mattress, the sheets kicked down to the foot of the bed in his restlessness. He’s hard and aching, the cold air uncomfortable on his hot skin. He’s on his knees, face hovering over the bed, mouth open and panting, his arms suspended from the top of the metal bed frame by the chains. He’s desperate for someone, anyone, to come and fill his empty hole, but no one knows where he is, and no one goes by the old Hale house anymore, so no one will find him. It doesn’t stop him from presenting himself for hours at a time. 

He spends the second day on his back, giving his knees a rest, but still with his legs spread wide and pulled nearly to his chest most of the time, leaving his ass on display. 

It’s on the third day of his self-imposed confinement, when he’s twisted the chains around so much he can’t really feel his fingers anymore, that he feels something warm. He moans automatically, lying exhausted on his side, and tries to lift his head to see. Warm hands skate over his thigh, hip, up his ribs to his shoulder, and he tilts his head back to bare his neck while simultaneously trying to move back into a position to present himself, the cuffs pulling on his wrists. The hands hold him still, and a moment later the chains go loose and the cuffs are removed. The rush of feeling back into his hands makes his fingertips hurt, and he whines into a mouth that’s surrounded by the scruff of a beard. 

Two pairs of hands maneuver him on the bed, get him up on his knees with his legs spread, and he screams as a finger breaches his hole, throwing himself back on it and nearly sending himself to the floor before they catch him. His ass gets fed two fingers while they’re still steadying him, and he sobs into the mattress, grabbing at the sheets he can feel. The fingers move to three, then four, and he thinks he’s pleading but he can’t be sure. 

Then, wonderful relief, as a glorious thick cock is pushed into his ass and fucks him roughly. He moans and rolls his head side to side, spreading his legs and arching his back to make himself more desirable. A knot splits him open in record time and he cries as he spills onto the bed. His head is lifted and guided to a hot cock that he sucks on greedily until his mouth is filled with come, and then he keeps sucking, pleading for more. 

The next few days are spent with him being spitroasted, the men taking turns at his holes. He’s idly aware of being fed while skewered on a knotted cock, fingers slipping grapes and pieces of cheese, meat, and bread between his lips. On the fifth day of his confinement he’s able to realize the scruffy faces are different; one is dark haired, one is light haired, but he can’t tell more than that before he drifts off with someone’s cock drooling into his mouth. 

The last of the heat finally dissipates on the eighth day, and Peter is so exhausted he can’t move from his position face down in a pillow. There’s a wet spot underneath him, and he grinds into it minutely, not even sure what it is. Hands come up to cover spots on his skin, ass, hip, sliding up his spine, and help him roll over onto his back. He’s soft for the first time in a week as he looks up, staring first into Chris’s eyes, and then Derek’s. 

“What?” he croaks out. 

“Come on, you didn’t think we’d notice you were gone?” Chris asks. 

“You thought we’d leave you to suffer alone?” Derek adds. Peter whines and twitches his hands towards them, and they curl up at his sides, petting and soothing him as he cries softly, surrounded in their embrace. Later, they hold him up between them in the shower and help wash away the come and sweat that’s soaked into his skin, and later still, they curl up together in a clean bed and soothe him to sleep, the three of them tangled up in each other. Alpha, beta, and omega.

* * *

5.

There’s something off in the Stilinski boy’s scent. It’s reminiscent of asphalt that’s been baking too long in the sun.

It’s not the first time he’s shown up to a Pack meeting since the death of the little hunter girl—the death that left Peter grinning so wide his fangs snick-snacked against each other. This is just like every other. He can’t sit still. He’s uncomfortable in his own skin and Peter almost fancies he can _see_ it crawl.

He stands next to the wall of grated windows and crosses his arms over his chest, wrapping spidery fingers almost desperately over the balls of his shoulders, as if he’s physically holding himself together.

He’s entertaining, like an art installation camouflaged in everyday life, but—even so—Peter would normally never pay him much mind. Only, tonight, Stiles’ gaze keeps flashing his way before skittering away.

He still has that look of prey he’d had from the moment Peter first laid eyes on him. Wide, Bambi eyes that announced his innocence and his weakness in the same expression. It had never been a lack of strength with this one though. His weakness was one of self—of being seen as not good enough. It was why his answer to Peter’s proposal had been a lie.

He hadn’t wanted to be a werewolf, but he had wanted to belong in a way that couldn’t be questioned.

He doesn’t shuffle out, shoulders hunched, eyes trained on sneakers, as soon as Derek’s finished with them. This time, he lingers, watches Derek follow Scott out. Scott, who still doesn’t want him, but who can no longer keep his head above water. His best friend is unrecognizable, his first girlfriend dead.

Peter’s expecting a conversation about the Ctrl+Z equivalent to that particular state of being any day now.

Perhaps that’s what’s behind Stiles’ slow exit. Somehow, Peter doesn’t think he can focus on anything past his own unraveling.

He swallows, loud in the void between them. He doesn’t pick his feet up any longer when he walks as if he’s actively trying to sink into the ground beneath him.

Peter grabs his arm as he moves to pass. He won’t be dancing around it for another week while Stiles gets his courage, ire, nerve up. Whatever it is he thinks he needs to broach this.

Stiles turns into it instantly as though the movement not only hasn’t taken him by surprise, but he’d been anticipating it.

Peter’s eyes flash blue and it’s a weakness, a sign of his own caught off guard state.

The change in color sends a thrill down Stiles’ spine and Peter’s close enough that he can feel the physical echo of it. His eyes are downcast, long lashes guarding his expression. “I know what it meant now.” He looks up, moon-pale and cracked around the edges. “ _It_ knew.” He pulls back his plaid overshirt, exposes his wrist.

It had been instinct in that garage that led Peter to make the offer, instinct that pulled tender skin to his jaws. He’d told himself it was a way of making Scott fall in, another tie secured—like Melissa would’ve been, but none of that explained the _where_.

“You offered it to me but forced it on Scott, Lydia. You bit them on their sides but me, you would’ve taken my wrist.”

Peter feels the shift drain out of him and smirks, lips curving smoothly.

Rage contorts Stiles’ features. He’s reaching up before Peter can stop him, digging blunt nails into the bare curve of his neck and Peter snarls, roars, challenged wolf in every cell of him.

Stiles’ eyes spark, relief and arousal pooling warmly and Peter knows what he wants.

He digs his claws into the small of Stiles’ back, lifts him with nails that tear into skin and presses him back against a wall of brick. Stiles wants to be hurt, thinks he _deserves_ to be hurt. The only pleasure he can bear laced with pain and he knows Peter will give it to him. Is perhaps the only one who will.

Stiles licks into his mouth, tongue bathing his fangs, nicking himself purposefully. He won’t let the wolf draw back, even when Peter mangles his mouth. He keeps his nails dug in while he spreads his thighs around Peter’s hips. He wants to be fucked, wants to stare into the eyes of a monster and writhe in pain while taking his pleasure.

Peter’s only so happy to oblige.

* * *

6.

Surprisingly, Derek was the vanilla one in the relationship, once he finally got his head out of his ass.

Stiles wanted to try _everything_.

The first time Stiles waggled the nipple clamps at Derek, he wondered if he’d maybe actually asked for bondage, including whips and chains. 

Derek looked at Stiles; all wounded eyes and clenched jaw.

He came hard and long about a second after Stiles licked around the first nipple. 

Stiles nobly resisted saying, “I told you so, dude.”

When Stiles brought a remote controlled vibrator home, Derek refused point-blank. There may actually have been a “Fuck you, Stiles. That will _never_ go into my ass.”

He howled, his mouth tight around Stiles’ cock, as the vibrator drilled into him from behind.

When Stiles asked Derek to knot him, Derek fled, hiding out in the preserve for two days until Scott and Isaac tracked him down , dragging him home.

He arrived back and roared in fury, smelling sex and come over almost every surface in the house. Only some of it was Stiles’.

“What the fuck has been going on here?” Derek spun in circles, desperate to find Stiles.

“Um,” Scott said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well….”

Isaac bravely spoke up, “Stiles had a party.”

Scott crossed his arms defensively when Derek leveled a red-eyed Alpha glare at him. “You ran away.” He stopped speaking.

“So?” Derek prompted when it looked like Scott wasn’t going say anything else.

“Stiles wanted to know what a werewolf knot looks like,” Isaac explained.

Scott shoved him. “Dude!” He did some sort of complicated eyebrow thing that Derek had no idea how to translate.

“He wanted a demonstration,” Isaac continued defiantly.

“Oh fuck.” Scott started backing away when Derek growled at Isaac. 

“We just showed him!” Isaac added, ducking behind Scott.

Derek stopped growling. “You _showed_ him?”

Both betas nodded. “Totally for scientific purposes,” Scott assured him. 

The side-eye from Isaac made Derek want to laugh. Scott was beyond clueless sometimes.

“Where is Stiles?” Derek asked again. 

Scott waved towards the stairs. “He said he was going to have a nap.”

Derek took the stairs two at a time. He was going to have to teach Stiles a lesson about werewolf possessiveness.

Stiles was naked in Derek’s bed. He lay on his stomach, one arm beneath a pillow, face smashed into the feathered softness.

Derek traced the line of the triskele on Stiles’ shoulder, smiling at the memory of watching the ink branding Stiles’ skin, marking him as Derek’s own.

“Finished being a wuss?” Stiles’ voice was muffled by the pillow, but Derek could hear him just fine.

“Shut up,” Derek ordered. Surprisingly, Stiles did.

Derek ran his hand down Stiles’ back, into the dip of his spine, the curve of his ass. When he touched Stiles’ hole he found it loose, wet, open. “You’ve been playing with other boys?” He could barely speak through the sudden drop of his teeth.

“Playing with other toys,” Stiles corrected him.

Every instinct ordered Derek to take, rut, breed, possess. He stripped quickly, wanting his skin on Stiles’ so that the scent of anyone else would vanish.

He rubbed himself all along Stiles’ back, relishing in the low whine that started in Stiles’ throat. He nipped at skin wherever he could reach, pleased with the bright red bite marks that signaled his ownership.

He notched his cock between Stiles’ ass cheeks, rocking as he felt the lube coat his dick. Stiles’ breathing was harsh and quick. Derek reached between their bodies and tested Stiles’. The lovely slick give of his body made Derek want to howl.

He didn’t wait. He couldn’t. He pushed into Stiles in a long, slow glide, taking care not to push too hard, too fast. Stiles gasped, lifting his hips, pressing eagerly back against Derek.

Derek wanted to fuck. He wanted to ram himself so hard into Stiles that his mate wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. Instead, he kept his movements deliberate and measured. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep control for too long.

He felt his knot swell, catching sweetly at Stiles’ rim every time he pulled out. Stiles moaned at the feeling of fullness. Derek couldn’t hear pain so he carried on until he couldn’t move any more.

Locked together, Derek rocked against Stiles in a lazy rhythm that didn’t falter until they both eventually fell asleep.

Turns out Derek wasn’t so vanilla after all.

* * *

7.

“You jerk!”

Derek had just enough time to duck the book that came whizzing toward his head before he turned to look at his boyfriend. “What the hell?!?”

Stiles scowled at him. “I know the last time you were in a relationship, it was with a psychotic bitch, so let me explain a few things to you. When one party has an amazing dick that can do awesome things like fucking _knot_ and that party doesn’t bother to inform the other party about their ability, then he can’t complain when he doesn’t get laid for the next, like, ever!”

“You think I have an amazing dick?”

Stiles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Derek, I think your dick is amazing,” he said in the tone of voice usually reserved for assuring toddlers that there really was no such thing as a drain monster. He tried to remind himself that he was furious with Derek and that meant he did _not_ want to cuddle him to death just because he lit up like a chandelier over one lousy compliments. “But that’s not the point. Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

A slow, predatory smile spread across Derek’s lips and Stiles’ heart kicked into overdrive, but he couldn’t make himself move as Derek actually _prowled_ towards him. “I heard amazing dick,” he said, voice dropping into low tones that made Stiles want to strip naked and rub against him for the next several months. “And awesome knot. And then there was a lot of whining about you not having gotten knotted yet.”

It hadn’t been whining. It had been a thoroughly justified complaint about a lack of communication in the relationship and Stiles was going to tell Derek just that once he managed to get his brain to do more than go _Guh_ at the way Derek’s hand delved into the back of his jeans to squeeze his ass. “Not whining,” he managed to get out, and that really was deserving of a prize or something.

Apparently Derek thought so too, because he rubbed hard over Stiles’ hole and Stiles let out a sound he’d only heard himself make a few times before as he grabbed frantically for Derek’s shirt to keep himself upright. “Are you sure? Because that sounded a lot like you wanting my knot. Right here and right now, but if you don’t -”

Another high-pitched keening sound slipped out as Stiles tried to pull Derek closer so he could grind against his cock. Or his thigh. Stiles really wasn’t picky, but he _needed_ friction against his dick, if only because he wanted to pretend he wasn’t two seconds from losing it just because Derek was rubbing over his hole and talking about knotting him.

Derek hummed and pressed a little harder, and who knew cotton underwear could feel this damn good against his skin? It must be some kind of magical wolfy ability, like the knot, something designed to render a mere human like Stiles powerless to do anything but shudder and whine for more. “You really need it, don’t you? You need that knot filling you up, need to stretch open around it.”

“Yeah,” he whimpered, shuddering as heat washed through him with the thought of Derek’s knot, opening him wider than he’d ever been, hard and full inside him. “Fuck, yeah.”

Derek’s hand disappeared and Stiles started to protest, but then his clothes were being stripped away, and he couldn’t argue with that. “There’s no going back from this. If I knot you, you’re mine. And I don’t share.” He emphasized the point with a hard yank that pulled Stiles’ jeans and underwear down, leaving his dick slapping up against his stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, yanking his shirt off and frantically toeing out of his shoes. He needed to be naked five minutes ago, because he had to get Derek inside him _now_. When Derek didn’t do anything else, Stiles glared at him. “You’d better not be trying to talk yourself out of this,” he warned him. He’d been promised a knot and he was going to get it. “Because if you don’t get over here and knot me right the fuck now, I’ll - I’ll wash all your shirts with wolfsbane!”

“You already did that,” Derek reminded him with a smirk. He pushed Stiles down and crawled over him. “Now shut up and I’ll show you what that book didn’t cover.”

Stiles was only too happy to do just that.

* * *

8.

There's something different about her bed. When she left this morning, it was neatly made and it's _still_ neatly made, but there's… something different. She doesn't know what it is, couldn't have described it to another living soul, but she knows, deep within her, in the place where the part of her that she doesn't like to acknowledge lives: _someone has been here._

When she dreams that night, she dreams of the forest, of running through it wearing only her skin. She dreams of eyes so blue they burn.

She dreams of white teeth and red, red blood.

\--

Lydia wakes with a gasp, clutches her sheets, catches her breath. She's no longer sixteen and weak, no longer called by the spirit of a dead man. She is a powerful woman, a harbinger of death. 

She holds her hands up, counts her fingers one by one. When the shaking subsides, she rolls over, buries her head in the pillow and breathes in the scent of the forest.

\--

She can feel it sometimes: a breath on the back of her neck; a laugh that sighs across the wind until she's not sure if she heard it or imagined it; the sharp edge of a claw trailing lightly over her flesh. She's being stalked by sensation, by goosebumps on her skin. She becomes so accustomed to the feeling of being watched, of being touched and tasted and _scented_ , that she no longer notices.

\--

Summer arrives, and with it, a heat that that adheres to her skin, makes her clothes hang too heavy upon her body. Her hair hangs limp and frazzled against her neck. She wears it up, sweeps it off her nape and into a loose knot. She feels the stares of her friends and ignores the way their eyes flash amber and red.

They're young and have such little control yet. But they'll learn. Just like she will.

\--

She sits and listens as the pack discuss strategies for defeating the demon that has arrived at their doorstep. It's become such an everyday occurrence that it doesn't stir her anymore, doesn't make her bite her lip in fear for herself or her friends. She just sits back, bored, waiting for the information to make her research easier.

There's a breath on the back of her neck, and after so long she no longer feels it, no longer flinches. She's been feeling the ghost of that touch for months.

There's a claw dragging along her skin, up her arm, over her shoulder, a teasing touch accompanied by a murmur of a laugh. She doesn't shrug it off because it's not really there.

There are lips at her ear, murmuring against it, and that's new. She sits up, looks around, and sees him. Sees the man who'd created her nightmares. 

The man who introduced her to her power.

She looks down and notices the faint track of red where his claw brushed against her skin. She touches her neck and feels the damp residue of his breath. She lifts an eyebrow and stares at him; finally catches him staring back at her.

She smiles, and knows how it must look to him, to all of them who might be watching. It's an invitation wrapped in a dare, and she knows the instant he accepts it. His eyes flare blue and his teeth stretch his mouth.

\--

When he comes to her that night, he smells of forest and moves around her room with a familiarity that gives him away. She laughs and pulls him into her bed, riding him to exhaustion as her hair falls around them.

She should be angry at his duplicity, but of all of them, she knows him. She _knows_ him. His voice lived inside her too long for her to deny his presence in her life now. 

She is the harbinger of death, and he is the monster under her bed.

* * *

9.

When Kali suggested knife play, Kate had laughed and said, 'Don't we have enough sharp objects in our bedroom?', gesturing to Kali's claws. Kali had insisted though, and Kate had agreed under the condition that Kali would be secured with wolfsbane ropes. She didn't particularly want her lover's wolf attacking her mid-coitus, and that seemed all too possible with this kink. 

Kate picked out a small pure silver knife from her armory. It had never been used, a custom gift from when she turned seventeen. It was a small thing, delicate and intricate and far too formal for fighting, but it fit into her garter belt perfectly. They found out that night that Kate enjoyed knife play just as much as Kali, if not more, and it quickly became part of their repertoire. Kate liked to tease Kali in public, running the blade along her thigh when she ordered food at their favorite restaurant, or up the back of her shirt as they waited in line to pay for movie tickets. She kept the main event for home though, with the silken purple ropes that aroused Kali by sight now. 

Kate carved into her skin obsessively; almost hoping that this time the marks would last. This time, Kali would wear her scars proudly and no one would doubt the strength of their bond. No one would look at Kate as a mere human, the weaker half. Kali had offered to change her, 'she'd make such a pretty wolf', she cooed, kissing her wrist. Kate wasn't interested, she liked being in control far too much; but she had been tempted by the possibility to temporarily scar her mate. There were three bites she wished would stay: a claim on her neck, a declaration on her wrist, and a promise on her inner thigh. She made those now with the knife, carefully constructed circles with wide rims, but they all healed by morning. Kate's didn't heal for weeks, and she found herself smiling at her bruised wrist throughout the day.

They devised a new game a few weeks into sharper play. Kali's legs would be tied just wide enough for Kate to lay between them and she would; a small double-ended knife, around the length of a pen, would be suspended between Kali's inner thighs. It always pricked her thighs a bit to keep from dropping, but that was preferable to Kate's reaction if the knife fell. And as long as the knife held, Kate would lap at her pussy hungrily. She wouldn't have much finesse- far too focused on each jiggle of Kali's thighs and each new droplet of blood sprouting up- but her tongue still got Kali off. It was an exquisite torture, and Kali still hadn't figured out how to keep her thighs from clenching shut when she orgasms. (She didn't really mind though, not when Kate cleaned her up with her tongue or a long bath afterwards.)

Tonight, Kate would part her skin and lick the open wound. She'd tease Kali about how easily she could kill her, how she was a hunter after all, dragging the knife along her slim throat. (Kali would hear the lie, but the words would still excite her.) She'd wait until the flesh knitted itself back together, and the moment it did, she'd rend it open again, tracing the same exact line. She'd lick up the fresh stripe of blood and kiss Kali with her stained lips. She might even lick the ropes by her wrists, pushing the pain onto her tongue. If she was feeling particularly evil, she'd wrap two fingers in the wolfsbane rope before thrusting them into her pussy, bringing her off screaming in pleasure and pain. Kate liked those screams best, promises of how the tables would be turned the following night.

* * *

10.

" _Stay_ ," Derek growls, his paws sharp against Stiles' back. With a submissive whimper, Stiles shudders to a stop, lying prone on the forest floor; his fur, a burnt sienna orange, quivers as Derek's teeth slide along his ear. "Good boy."

Stiles lets the change overtake him. His paws and tail melt into naked human skin, and when he tilts his head to the side, it's Derek's stubble that scratches his jaw. "You caught me," Stiles murmurs, grinding his ass up against Derek's already evident erection. "Are you gonna punish me now?"

Derek grunts his approval; his cock is sliding against Stiles' wet hole, loose with preparation and lubrication. "You _want_ this," he snarls, and snaps Stiles' hips up, burying his cock inside.

" _Fuck!_ " Stiles screams as Derek splits him apart, impaling him on his huge cock and driving deep inside. "Fuck, Derek, _fuck_ \--"

"You can take it," Derek orders, feeling Stiles hole constrict, pulling him in. He licks the shell of Stiles' ear, his sharp teeth nicking the lobe. "Take my fucking cock, Stiles."

Stiles' palms paw against the leaves and dirt, scrambling for purchase as he whines and wails with each of Derek's hard, punishing thrusts. "Yes, yes, fuck me," he chants deliriously, "I wanna feel you in the back of my throat, oh fuck, _yes_."

Derek doesn't relent, all of the adrenaline from their chase setting his desire alight. He fucks Stiles faster, harder, rutting him into the ground. Stiles' cock hangs between his legs, dribbling pre-come and swaying obscenely with each thrust. "I'm gonna knot you," Derek pants, biting along Stiles' neck where his sweat has pooled, smelling of lust and sex. "You're gonna feel even tighter around my cock. I'm gonna fucking _ruin_ you, Stiles, and you'll take every drop of my come."

" _Yes_ ," Stiles wails, trying to jerk his hips back for more, "I want you to come in me, I wanna feel it, Derek, I want you to fill me up, oh god--" 

"Gonna make you _scream_ ," Derek moans. He violently fucks into Stiles, once, twice, before he lifts his head with a groan and starts to come. His fingernails leave crescent-moon bruises as his come gushes hot and heavy into Stiles, making him sob with pleasure.

"Derek, oh fuck, _Derek_ , I can feel you, I can feel you filling me up, _fuck_ ," he gasps as Derek holds him in place, his hole tightening around the knot. Derek continues to thrust shallowly, his cock huge and deep inside, growling as Stiles screams with the constant pressure nailing his prostate. "You're gonna make me come, oh fuck, Derek, _Derek_!"

Stiles comes in thick streams of white across the forest floor, Derek's hand rough and tight around him as he continues to grind his knot inside. "So beautiful," Derek murmurs into Stiles' skin, "so tight."

"Oh god," Stiles moans when he's finished riding his high, feeling Derek press kisses along his shoulder. "You're so big inside of me."

"You love it," Derek whispers, and brings his wet hand up to lick clean, before kneeling backwards and pulling Stiles into his lap. "Now you'll smell like me for _days_."

Stiles huffs a laugh and nuzzles back into the crook of Derek's neck, grinding down onto the knot with a pleased sigh. "I don't think any more coyotes will come sniffing around me now."

"Good," Derek grunts, and seals his mouth over Stiles', his grip on his waist secure and possessively tight.

* * *

11.

 

Most of the time, the best thing about New York was that Derek and Laura didn't know of any werewolves there. There was nobody to offer condolences on their loss, nobody who knew the enormity of it. 

On full moons it could also be the _worst_ thing about New York.

"I can't--" Laura grabbed one of the throw pillows scattered around her and growled as her claws went straight through it. "I need to--"

"I _know_ , okay?" Derek more than knew the frustration coursing through Laura. At least she had a boyfriend, one she could see when the wolf wasn't threatening to take over. When the pain, the anger was pushed down enough to give her total control. Derek hadn't trusted anyone enough to let them close to him for a while, and he wasn't planning to again any time soon. He put a hand on her shoulder tentatively. "Let's go for a run, we can-"

"You have _no idea_ ," Laura gritted out, and twisted under his hand. Turned and slammed Derek against the wall, teeth pressed against his neck. He could feel her chest vibrating, as if an alpha roar was ready to break out of her.

Carefully, he tipped his head back, bared his throat. He expected her to release him then, but--

"You don't know how much I want to _fuck_ something," she snarled, and maybe it was the way she was all over his ass, or maybe it was the way she emphasised the 'fuck' with a hard jerk of her hips, but Derek thought maybe she meant exactly what she'd said.

"You-- you do that?" he said, and fuck, he was hard against the wall at the thought of it, but if anyone had started being inappropriate here it was Laura, the way she was grinding her crotch against his ass still, leaking the scent of her own arousal all over him. 

"Oh yeah," she mouthed against his neck. "There's nothing like it. Pinning a big strong guy down and making him beg for it, fucking him open, making him come on my cock--"

She moaned, her hips jerking forward again, and this time Derek was there to meet her, his head rolling back onto her shoulder as they ground together.

"Laura," he groaned, and she gripped his hip, rubbed harder, with longer strokes, her buckle pressing through his jeans against his hole, and her other hand slid around to his belt, his zipper, making short work of them.

"Wait, wait," she rumbled, alpha voice holding him in position while she moved off, rummaged in the desk drawers for something. Cool air brushed over his ass without her hot and close behind him, and Derek felt foolish for a moment, felt exposed. Whatever he'd scented on her, this wasn't what he thought, she wasn't going to--

It was hard, Laura's cock, hard and slick. He wished he'd seen it, maybe had chance to have it in his mouth, but then it wouldn't be working its way into him slowly, surely, filling him exactly as he needed to be filled. It wasn't the same, doing this to himself.

"Gonna, fuck, _Derek_ ," Laura ground out, and Derek could feel the straps of the harness on her bare hips, the bulge of the dildo's base against his ass as she pushed in the last couple of inches. "Gonna fuck you, fill you up, god."

He braced himself against the wall, claws gouging marks in the paper that they'd have to fix eventually. One of Laura's hands clasped his as she thrust hard, hips snapping back and forth, rhythm rough and ragged but perfect all the same.

"You want my knot, Derek?" she growled. "Think you can take it, take my big--"

"Yes, yes, yeah," he gasped out, but he was still surprised when he felt her slow her thrusts, when he heard the soft whoosh whoosh of a pump, when the base of the toy expanded inside him. Something settled inside his head at the sensation, some deep satisfaction that came, at least in part, from submitting to his alpha so fully.

He thought, when he came for the second time, Laura still deep inside him as if they were truly knotted, that he was done, that he wouldn't be getting it up again any time soon.

Then Laura put her mouth to his ear, whispered, "Your turn next," and apparently, he'd been wrong.

* * *

12.

“Just stay still.” Derek says, almost snarling, teeth elongated into pointy fangs. “I can control it.”

Stiles shudders as Derek rests his face on his chest, clawed hands gripping his sides; he can hear Derek's agitated breathing, can feel him pressing Stiles harder, harder, against the wall. 

“Sure, big guy,” he breathes out, tapping the fingers of his left hand on his own leg nervously, biting at his lip until the sensitive skin there feels sore, and the cold air coming through the open window makes them tingle, wet and abused.

They stay like that for a moment, and finally Stiles shifts a little when he feels one of his legs starting to get numb, and suddenly it's like Stiles turned a switch, because Derek starts _pawing_ at him, big hands clumsily grabbing at his shirt and tearing it with his claws as he presses against Stiles until he can feel the hard outline of his dick even through the rough denim against his hip.

“Okay, buddy,” he stutters out, hands coming up and hovering over Derek as he takes in lungfuls of air against Stiles' neck, nose buried against his skin, snuffling noisily, “you wanna get some eau de Stiles, big guy? Knock yourself out. Just go easy on the goods.”

“ _Shut up_ , Stiles.” Derek grunts, voice muffled against Stiles' skin, lips tickling him.

“Going back to basics, huh?”

“I swear,” Derek's hands climb up his shirt, claws trailing upwards, giving Stiles' goosebumps, making all the blood that hadn't been pooling there already go straight to his hardening dick, “I swear I am gonna kill you.”

Stiles, who is way past the point of being afraid _of_ Derek, smirks. His heart is beating wildly inside his chest anyway, ribcage barely containing the thump thump _thumps_ ; he isn't afraid of Derek, but he _is_ afraid _for_ him; afraid of where this could be leading, and what it would mean for him. 

Derek whines, ruts at him like he's feverish, in heat, like the stuttering of his hips is something he can't control. 

Which is likely.

Stiles' hands land on Derek's shoulders, and he _feels it_ against the skin of his throat when Derek lets out a wet and open mouthed sob.

“I can't,” he whispers, and Stiles' heart breaks at the vulnerability in those words.

“That's--” he pats Derek's shoulder awkwardly, and Derek's body seems to thrive in the touch, to seek it once it's gone, and everything is so fucked up, witches are fucked up, their lives are fucked up. “That's okay, big guy, we'll get through this one together. Just like treading water for two hours and crawling through shards of glass, huh? It's what we do.”

Derek's clawed fingers trail upwards, letting the skin of Stiles' stomach exposed to the cold air, making him shiver, and Derek moves even closer, hips rubbing against him at an offbeat pace, and Stiles bites at his bottom lip, inhaling loudly when Derek's claws reach his nipples and fixate on them, trace delicate, sharp circles around them.

“I'm sorry,” Derek mutters, and then he laps at Stiles' throat with the flat of his tongue, drags it up and up until Stiles is scrabbling at his shoulders and tilting his own hips because _God_ , Derek is _tasting_ him, going at it like he's deriving the meaning of life from it, like it's something other than compulsion and Stiles hasn't gotten laid in forever, and he's touched himself harshly countless times, imagining Derek giving in to some primal urge.

And this is so _fucked up_.

“Me too, for all that matters,” he chokes out, yanking at Derek's hair (and Derek _growls_ , a deep rumbling animal sound that will haunt Stiles' fantasies forever), “but right now? Right now we have to get to the bed, because there's no way you're fucking me for the first time propped against a wall, as hot as that sounds.”

Derek moans and shakes Stiles' hand off ( _like a dog_ , he thinks), but looks at him with incandescent blue eyes, grabbing at his hand and tugging him in the direction of the bed, turning him around to give him a biting, bruising kiss as he backs him up until he stumbles down onto the softness of his duvet.

“I'm going to _knot you_ ,” Derek grunts out once they are down and he's straddling him, eyes glowing and fixed on him, and Stiles groans.

“Okay, yes, let's do that,” he agrees breathlessly and nods as Derek dives back in.

* * *

13.

“What the fuck is that?” Finstock yells as he see’s what Greenberg is unwrapping from a nondescript brown cardboard box. 

“Stilinski recommended it. Said it was almost as good as the real thing and he would know.” Greenberg pulls a long yellow dildo out of the box with a knot at the end of it. 

“I’d like to think I'm a man of the world but that can’t be natural?” Finstock goggles at the dildo in Greenberg’s hand. 

“It’s called The Wolfman. I was thinking maybe we could use it this weekend babe?” Greenberg says with a hopeful smile. 

Finstock looks at it for a couple of beats sighs and says, “You still have that harness we used to use?”

* * *

“Put your back into Greenberg” Finstock moans as Greenberg wiggles the dildo gently back and forth with the harness. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Greenberg says as she continues to move the dildo in tiny strokes. 

Finstock groans and says,” You aren't going to hurt me. Now move or so help me.”

“Anything you say, Cupcake,” Greenberg grins and starts to piston her hips back and forth. Not quite pushing the dildo in all the way. Just teasing the knot against his rim. 

“Holy fuck! That’s more like it.” Finstock grabs the headboard on the bed as Greenberg pumps into him from behind. The whole bed moving with her thrust as she fucks into him. 

The only thing that can be be heard for a few minutes are the sounds of the leather harness slapping against skin and breathy moans coming from the bed.

“I’m going to try to get the knot in,” Greenberg pants between thrust. 

“Do it,” Finstock grits out as he moves the hand not gripping the headboard to his own cock. 

Greenberg slows down, eventually just giving minute thrusts and slowly pushes the knot in a little bit. 

“I said do it. By god, do I have to come back there and make you!” Finstock yells, , “Push it in me!”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Greenberg mutters. She gives one final sharp thrust lodging the knot tight within his ass as she collapses across his back. 

“Holy fuck, that’s the stuff.” Finstock goes stiff and comes spectacularly across the bed. 

“Did you just come that quickly?” Greenberg grins as she kisses his shoulder.

“Shut it, Greenberg,” Finstock mutters into the pillow.

“Can’t, still haven’t come yet,” she playfully rolls her hips within the harness, not quite dislodging the knot but moving it enough to make Finstock feebly push back against her and the end of the dildo to rub against her clit at just the right angle. 

“Feels good,” she wiggles the dildo as Finstock pushes back against her rubbing the end of it against her clit sending jolts of pleasure through her, “push harder!’

“Bossy, I like ‘em like that,” Finstock pushes back against her wiggling a little back and forth as he pushes. 

“Ah. So good, just a little more,” she rubs against the dildo sending sparks of pleasure through both of them. 

“Just a little more,” she mutters as she continues to wiggle against the dildo. 

“Oh for the love of god,” Finstock reaches around and pushes his hand inside the harness. Quickly finding her wet, clit and bringing her off. 

“Thanks, babe,” Greenberg says as she gingerly pulls out the dildo. “You’re the best”

“You always say that.” Finstock stretches across the bed and crawls under the covers as Greenberg puts the harness in the bathroom to deal with later. She crawls into bed beside him kissing him softly as she settles down. 

“What do you think about fisting?” Greenberg ask as she fluffs her pillow and gets comfortable.

Finstock turns over his pillow and stares hard at her for a second, “We’ll talk.” 

* * *

14.

Chris entered the empty apartment and paused, taking in the darkness. The emptiness. He no longer enjoyed coming home. There was no longer a reason for it, except for the reminder of his life before, when Allison had still been alive. The happy memories were painful now, but... he couldn't give them up. Not yet. 

He went to close the door, feeling battered and old. But the door did not close. In a sudden flurry of movement the door slammed into the wall mere seconds before Chris himself was slammed up against it, followed by the sound of the door then slamming shut. Closely followed by lips suddenly on his, and hands keeping his hips pinned to the wall.

Chris tried to push the werewolf off him, but failed as instead his hands fisted the shirt Peter wore. A blue shirt... one that went well with the glowing blue eyes of the man trying to devour him through their kiss.

There was no fighting it, Chris had no willpower left to try and deny the attraction between him and the wolf. It had been there laying dormant since they were teens, and now the hardships of their lives has brought on this rough, hard, passionate embrace. It soothed the raw pain Chris still felt in his heart and soul from losing his sister, wife and daughter.

Clothes were torn off and left to fall where they may, neither man caring. “Shower...” Chris said, knowing he was sweaty as hell, but Peter didn't back off.

“No... I need your scent...” Chris was half disgusted and half aroused by Peter leaving off their kissing to press his nose to Chris' neck to inhale deeply. He knew it was a wolf thing, but Chris couldn't wrap his mind around it as a human. However, standing naked with Peter, Chris couldn't bring himself to complain.

“Ridiculous wolf,” he muttered before turning the tables and pinning Peter back against the wall. It had been so long... not since they were teens, and Peter... he was different now. His body was the body of a man, and not a teenage boy. 

He kissed Peter hard, purposefully fighting the other man for dominance in the kiss, needing to get Peter worked up. Needing to get him to the point where he could make Chris numb with pleasure. He needed that desperately. Needed to have his mind wiped clean of everything else. Just this. Just Peter.

It worked, and soon they tumbled onto Chris' bed, Peter manhandling him onto his knees, his shoulders pressed down hard to the mattress, presenting his ass to him. It was wrong... But he couldn't stop. He needed this, needed to feel anything but his grief and loneliness.

It seemed like it took forever, getting him prepared. Felt like Peter was taking his damn time in doing it, purposefully torturing Chris with his tongue and fingers. It likely didn't take long at all, but to Chris it felt like ages before Peter finally pressed inside of him. Filling him up.

Then Chris was pulled up, back arching so Peter could stay buried inside of him, hips trying to move back on Peter while in that position and not having much leverage. 

“You don't know how long I've wanted this, wanted you. Even while half insane... I wanted this, damn near went into your house so many time to take you away and have you. Nothing is going to stop me now.”

“No, nothing,” was Chris' response, mindless in his pleasure as he was.

“You'll take it all. My knot, my come. Tonight I make you mine.” Peter's words made Chris shudder, and he knew in the morning he'd regret this, but right now... it was everything he wanted.

“Yes...”

Peter fucked him hard after that, thrusting into him over and over while Chris fisted his own cock. It didn't take either man long at all before climaxing, Chris calling out first, face buried in his pillow, Peter second, the base of his cock swelling and stretching Chris painfully before filling him after becoming locked in place. Chris would hate himself in the morning, but right now? In the blissed out state of post orgasm, feeling numb from the pleasure mixed with pain, with Peter's body and heat and buried so deeply inside of him... It was everything he had needed. For now, everything was alright.

* * *

15.

The way Peter's fingers slipped inside of Lydia forced her to spread her legs wider, groaning as one fingertip edged against her cervix, massaging it as the heel of his hand bore down against her clit. "If I need to be this wet, I think a little lube should have been in the cards instead of exhausting me with orgasms."

He raised his eyebrows at her while smirking, his chest tensing as he pushed more of his hand into her, the knuckle of his thumb tight against her entrance as his fingers flexed inside of her. "Maybe I like watching you come apart."

"I'd rather come apart because you're doing like I asked." Her words came out as moans, though, her back arching to force her hips down against Peter's wrist. Her face was pink with exertion as she rode against his hand, her right hand sliding up her pale torso to pluck and twist her nipples while her left hand slid through the dampness of her curls in order to tease at her clit. "Okay, you asshole. I'm close."

Adjusting his own position on the bed, Peter sneered at her. "As her highness commands." He yanked his hand out from within her, grinning beatifically at the low groan it dragged from her throat as she twitched with her orgasm. Using the excess moisture on his hand, he stroked his cock to full hardness and pressed Lydia's knees upward in order to tease the head of his cock against her swollen entrance. "You do still want this, right, Lydia?"

Her hair sticking to the sweat at her temples, Lydia huffed out a breath of laughter. "Really, Peter? _Now_ is when you're concerned about consent I already gave you?"

"I'm being polite," he muttered, lining himself up and slamming into her, hissing at the feel of the heat and moisture coupled with the relative lack of friction. "I feel like I'm getting my own sloppy seconds here. It's nice."

"Don't wear your mouth out now. I've got plans for it." Lydia let her hands slide up Peter's chest, clutching onto his shoulders tightly as she ground her hips back against his thrusts. "Now, let me feel you like I asked."

Peter pursed her lips as he watched her, strawberry blonde hair splayed around her and pale skin luminous against the wine red sheets. Focusing on that, as well as the heady scent of her sex that he was nearly drowning in, made it all too easy to edge closer and closer to the right feeling. She didn't even seem to notice that his knot had begun to form, so stretched out from his earlier ministrations. It wasn't until he was nearly at his maximum size that her fingernails dug into his flesh and she began to let out heady gasps as his knot began to push into her then drag back out. 

He wasn't used to this either, his body wanting to stop now in order to knot her and fill her with his come. Grunting, Peter pushed himself to continue to fuck Lydia, even as his body finally began to surrender his seed, fucking it into her and dragging it out with each push of his hips. "You're a mess, you know," he said as he shuddered at the feeling of her sliding along his knot.

"A sleepy mess," she muttered, one hand sliding away from Peter's shoulder to catch her fingers along the curve of his jaw. "Now, clean me up."

Crawling backward down the bed, Peter carefully crouched down so that his sensitive cock wouldn't brush against the sheets too much before burying his face between her thighs, inhaling sharply through his nose to breathe while his mouth made quick work of tasting every inch of her. The way their tastes melded together pleased him more than he was likely ever to admit. 

He worked his fingers deep within her in order to pull out every drop of his come that he could manage, licking her clean until she glistened more with his saliva than anything else, then gave one last gentle kiss to her oversensitive clit before pulling away. "I can't believe you let your Ambien prescription run out and asked me of all people to help you sleep."

Turning onto her side away from the lingering mess on the bed, Lydia smirked. "And here I thought werewolves could hear lies."

* * *

16.

"Last chance to change your mind," Stiles says, picking up his glass of magical baby-making potion and searching Derek's face over the rim.

Derek quirks an eyebrow. "Bottoms up," he replies, lifting his own glass, and Stiles grins.

*

They don't even make it out of the kitchen the first time, both of them overcome with the need to just _fuck_. Derek knots him on the cold linoleum floor, one of Stiles' legs thrown over Derek's shoulder and the other braced on the partition leading to the living room.

*

They've been together for ten years now. Beacon Hills isn't the same as it was when Stiles and Scott and the rest of them were in high school, and none of them would call it the hellmouth it once was. It will never be the safest place in the world, but it's far more stable than it used to be.

They have a right to live their lives the way they want to, to be happy. They've earned it.

*

Stiles moans, throwing his head back as he grinds down onto Derek's lap, his ass full of swollen werewolf knot. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Derek whines, claws digging into the arms of the recliner they're in. There's come from the first three times slipping down between their thighs, and yeah, they're going to have to get the chair reupholstered.

Or maybe just buy a new one.

*

Stiles and Derek aren't the first couple in the pack to want children. 

Scott and Kira have two already, a boy and a girl. Their daughter is the oldest, and is a Kitsune like her mother and grandmother. Their one year old son, however, is a werewolf just like his dad.

*

Derek mouths at the back of Stiles' neck, sharp teeth scraping against his skin and claws gently pressing into his hips. Stiles' ass is sore, and so fucking loose and wet that Derek's half-filled knot can slip in and out with ease. Come drips from his abused hole, squelching filthily and drying tacky on the backs of his thighs. Stiles has never seen so much come in his life.

"Gonna fill you so full," Derek murmurs, making Stiles shiver. One hand slides down and presses against Stiles' flat stomach, holding him in place as Derek hitches his hips, pushing his knot fully inside. "Gonna put a baby in you. My baby. _Our_ baby. I'm gonna breed you until it takes, knot you over and over until there's no doubt left."

Stiles whimpers and comes untouched, Derek growling in his ear as his knot fills the rest of the way, locking them together.

*

When they'd first started talking about using magic to have a baby, Stiles hadn't been sure he wanted to contribute. He had only agreed after Deaton had assured him that any child born of the two of them would be a werewolf, and therefore immune to any genetic diseases.

It had taken him two more months to wrap his head around the idea of being the one to carry their child.

*

Stiles' chest gets swollen and sore, and his nipples start to leak. Derek sucks them dry while fucking hard into Stiles' gaping hole, his knot swelling so fast and so big it makes Stiles cry out. His half-hard dick pulses painfully as he comes dry, and he throws his head back with a desperate sob.

Derek continues to grind against him, making broken, near-feral noises that vibrate through his chest and against Stiles' sensitive skin.

*

Stiles isn't entirely sure what day it is when he finally wakes up without the overwhelming urge to have Derek's knot buried tightly in his ass. He blinks at the ceiling for a few minutes before turning his head to look at his husband. Derek is still asleep, lips parted and breath puffing softly against Stiles' shoulder.

They're both _covered_ in come. Stiles feels completely disgusting, but he's also exhausted beyond belief and he can't quite bring himself to wake Derek up when he's so peaceful.

Stiles flings an arm over Derek's waist and goes back to sleep.

*

Nine months later, Stiles gives birth to a healthy baby girl, with lots of tears and assurances all around that she is definitely a werewolf.

They name her Zoe.

* * *

17.

Yet another frustrating training session left Isaac on edge and pacing the old train wagon. He's a failure. A disgrace. His dad was so fucking right.

When Erica blocks his way—“You should be used to Derek wiping the floor with you by now. When will you learn to take it easy?”—the sudden urge to fight her—hurt her—rushes through him. It's not her, not what she says, that triggers it; it's the ache for success, vibrant and fiery.

It's stupid, but Isaac can't stop his claws from pricking his fingertips and his eyes from flashing amber. Erica laughs—although she should know better—and it's what makes him lunge at her, hurling her backwards into a handrail. 

Erica's on him in the next moment. She's fast and her claws tear at the skin of his face before Isaac manages to shove her to the floor. She raises an eyebrow when he touches his cheek; there's a hint of blood.

Cracking his neck, Isaac dares her to attack again. She goes for his chest this time, quick blows that he blocks easily. It's fucking boring. Grabbing hold of Erica's wrist, he spins her around and twists her arm to her back, spanning her throat with his other hand. This is exciting.

She smells of the sweat and dust that comes with training. Beneath it lingers something like honey and almond, something that makes Isaac's head swim. He noses the side of her neck, can't bite back a soft, wanting sound. His mind instantly provides about a dozen dirty ideas; touching her breasts is the most harmless of them, but it's as good a start as anything.

“You could've asked right away, you know?” she coos.

He laughs, nips at her pulse, playful, careful, and she surrenders just for a moment—just until he releases her wrist.

Erica pushes back against Isaac with her full weight. She may be petite, but having the surprise effect and the momentum on her side, she plows him over like she's a goddamned bulldozer.

Isaac crashes down hard. The impact presses the air out of his lungs and blurs his sight. Behind his head, Erica leans over him. Her grin reminds him of the fucking Cheshire cat, and he longs to wipe it out.

Groaning, Isaac reaches up and grabs her by the hips. One sharp pull, and she is sprawled across him, thisclose to headbutting him in the crotch. 

Erica’s jeans, along with the hint of nothing that's her thong, fall prey to one smooth tear of claws; her growl morphs into a sigh when Isaac flicks his tongue over her pussy. Her taste is even better than her scent: stronger and purer. It wakes an instinct he's never known, one that's too powerful to be entirely human.

While she writhes, Isaac flips her over (maybe a little too hard, but that's payback) and pins her down on the floor. He needs—and she seems to need, too, because even though she tells him to fuck off, she fists his hair and pulls him back into her lap.

Isaac loves how she falls apart a little more with every lick and suck and flick of his tongue. It's beautiful, perfect—she is beautiful and perfect. He can't stop, not when her breath hitches, not when she begs; he wants her to come for him, because of him.

When she does, moaning his name and piercing his thighs with her claws so deeply that he thinks the wounds may never heal, it's the best fucking moment ever in Isaac's entire life—although he's got more in mind that promises to be equally thrilling.

Like throwing her over a seat and fucking her from behind with smooth, hard thrusts. Maybe fucking her against the wall, too. Definitely fucking her mouth because those red lips are made to stretch around a cock. If she lets him, he'll come down her throat or on her face; either is fine. He wants to worship her, wants to knot her, claim her, be claimed in return. And then again. And some more.

But for now—for now, he's satisfied.

* * *

18.

“I hate being a werewolf,” Jackson groans.

Danny pinches Jackson’s side, “That’s not what I usually hear. Stop whining and hold still.”

“I’m not- fuck,” Jackson gasps when he feels something warm and wet press into him.

Danny hums as he presses his tongue further. The heel of his palm pushes against the small of Jackson’s back to keep him from squirming too much.

Jackson’s fingers curl tight into the sheets while Danny fucks him with his tongue. He can’t help the small noises that escape. He tries pushing back against Danny, but Danny’s palm keeps him in place.

“Danny,” he gasps.

Danny pulls his tongue out and moves over Jackson to press a kiss against his shoulder. He smirks at Jackson’s whine of protest. Jackson might hate this whole heat thing, but Danny enjoys watching him come undone so easily. It makes up for the burning that he still feels from Jackson dragging his claws along his back earlier.

“What do you want?” Danny asks, voice low and tone easy. He can tease Jackson for hours.

“Danny,” Jackson grinds out.

Danny’s certain Jackson is trying for irritated, but he only hears desperation. “Danny... what?”

“Just-” Jackson pushes his ass up, trying to make contact with Danny. He knows Danny’s hovering just over him.

“Just... do this?” Danny asks sweetly as he pushes two fingers into Jackson. He crooks them at the second knuckle and pulls up, forcing Jackson to move onto his knees to lessen the tension.

Danny twists his fingers and pushes them deeper. Jackson tries to smother the string of ‘fuck’s that fall from his lips with his pillow

“You like that?” Danny asks, pulling his fingers out and thrusting them in again.

“Fuck!” Jackson nearly yells as he jumps at the movement. He mumbles something into the pillow that Danny can’t quite make out.

“What was that?” Danny asks, but Jackson shakes his head, refusing to answer. Danny pulls his fingers out and waits. “You don’t like it?”

“Fuck you,” Jackson growls. He’s clawing at the mattress now. When he turns his head enough to shoot Danny a glare, his eyes are glowing.

Danny thrusts a third finger in this time and hums when Jackson cries out. He has every intention of teasing Jackson’s opening raw until he begs for what they both know he wants. Needs. Jackson needs this right now. The heat practically strips Jackson’s self-control, but there’s enough of the stubbornness left behind for Danny to have fun with.

“Get on with it, Mahealani,” Jackson demands and pushes back against the fingers.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Just- dammit,” Jackson moves again, trying to fuck himself on Danny’s fingers. The mattress has a small wet spot from the precum dripping from his cock.

“Mm... I think I like that idea too,” Danny says. He’s already undone the front of his jeans, but he hasn’t stripped any of the rest of his clothing off. He likes having Jackson naked, under him, while he still has his own clothes on.

Danny pulls his fingers out, reaches for the condom, and slides it on easily. He grabs Jackson’s hips and jerks him backwards. He pushes in with one smooth thrust and no warning.

Jackson cries out at the sensation of being stretched. He tries pushing his claws further into the mattress to serve as a distraction. He’s already shredded the sheets.

Danny doesn’t give him a chance to adjust. He moves to hook his arms under Jackson’s, hauling him back until Jackson’s back is pressed against his chest. He takes advantage of the closeness by sucking and nipping at Jackson’s neck.

“Fuck, Danny... Jesus,” Jackson breathes. He tries to get one arm free. He’s so close already.

Danny unhooks his arm so he can reach down and wrap his fingers around Jackson and jerk him off. He’s completely out of sync with his thrusts, but it sends Jackson over the edge with Danny’s name on his lips like it’s a curse.

Danny thrusts a couple more times before he’s coming with a low groan. He pulls out and collapses half on top of the blonde.

They’re both quiet for a long moment as they catch their breath. 

Jackson shoves Danny off of him and rolls over.

Danny turns his head to look at him and groans when he sees Jackson’s half-hard already, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Jackson smirks while Danny mutters something about werewolves and heats being impossible to manage.

* * *

19.

The courtyard bustles with activity as the Hales' guests begin to arrive. Derek hears a peal of tinkling laughter just as Stiles grasps his shoulder and shoves his cock back inside Derek's filthy stretched-out hole for the third time that day.

It's the weekend of the matchmaking ball—Derek's fourth, he's been reminded of more than once. But he can't think about the disappointment on his mother's face after last year's fiasco, or the way she'd prattled on at breakfast about the importance of Hale heirs finding their partners soon after coming of age.

No, Derek can barely think at all when Stiles is fucking him in earnest, his hands gripping Derek's hips so tightly they'd leave dark bruises on any human. His back bows on a particularly hard thrust and Derek concentrates on the sting of it, the crude slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of Stiles working an afternoon's worth of come deeper inside him.

Stiles reaches around and takes Derek's nipple between his fingers. He pinches hard, tugs on it and doesn't let go. Derek's eyes flash in ecstasy and a low growl builds in his throat when Stiles squeezes harder still, breaking the skin and painting Derek's chest with droplets of his own blood.

"Do you hear them down there, Derek? The eager werewolves and upper crust supernatural beings who can't wait to get their chance with you tonight?" Stiles is breathless but doesn't slow his movements for a second. "I hear Lydia Martin will be attending. Your uncle seems particularly interested in bringing a banshee into the fold."

He leans closer, sinks his teeth into Derek's ear and whispers, "What do you think they'd say if they knew you were on your knees, spread open for a common servant, filled with the come of a weak little human like me?"

Stiles drags blunt, raggedy fingernails down his back, scoring his skin; Derek is desperate to see the marks. He doesn't want to heal, or for Stiles to see the red lines vanish from Derek's skin almost as soon as they appear.

"I don't care what they think," Derek gasps. He drops down to rest his cheek and shoulder on the mattress, then reaches back to spread himself open even further. "Only want you."

With a strangled moan, Stiles traces a finger around Derek's asshole, now fully on display, stuffed full of Stiles' cock, and most assuredly swollen and obscene. "Going to fill you up again, Derek. Make you so full, stinking of my come, no one will dare come near you tonight."

"Fuck yes, Stiles. Do it." Derek reaches for his cock, gives it a few firm tugs and blurts a pathetic shot of come onto the filthy sheets. He's empty, spent, useless to the night's amorous guests, just the way Stiles wants him.

Usually more discreet, Stiles doesn't tamp down his frantic thrusts or the choked off yell as he empties himself into Derek once more. He collapses against Derek's sweat-slicked back to catch his breath. 

When Stiles pulls out, a glob of come slides down the inside of Derek's thigh. Stiles swipes at it with his fingers, then lifts his hand to Derek's mouth. "I should plug you up, keep you wet and full of me all night."

Derek whimpers around Stiles' fingers and sucks them clean. He loves how possessive Stiles gets in these stolen moments. He drags Stiles on top of him, rubbing Stiles' wet cock against the coarse hair on his belly, crashing their mouths together in a violent kiss.

He can't stand the thought of Stiles bathing him, washing their combined scents away before preparing him for the party. Or watching Stiles attend to him while guests are paraded in front of Derek in their finery.

If only they knew he'd be useless to them, that he desires only to give everything to this man and no other.

"Not tonight," Derek says, an idea sparking in the back of his mind. "No washing tonight, either. Just help me dress, then put on your best clothes."

Stiles looks startled at first, then unbelievably pleased. They prepare quickly. Stiles smoothes velvet across Derek's broad shoulders and a smile crosses Derek's face when he feels Stiles' come begin to leak from his body. The scent is overwhelming.

"Are you sure about this?" Stiles asks, suddenly uncertain.

In a show of bravery befitting a Hale, Derek simply takes Stiles' hand and leads him down the grand staircase to the party below.

* * *

20.

Danny’s back hit the bed and Ethan straddled him, growling and ripping the human’s shirt off Danny gasping as he felt Ethan’s sharp claws accidently scratch him. Ethan leaned in for another bruising kiss, pushing Danny’s legs further apart and lying between them, grinding their cocks together. Danny moaned, digging his fingers into his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

He opened his eyes and looked up at Ethan’s glowing blue ones, his sharp teeth showing as he quietly growled. Danny cupped Ethan’s face and brought him in for another kiss, tasting blood as Ethan’s teeth nicked part of his lip. Danny licked it away before kiss him again and again, running one hand down to grope Ethan’s butt. 

“I got myself ready for you,” Danny whispered, his heart racing faster as he heard the answering growl from Ethan. “Fucked my fingers thinking about your nice, thick cock inside of me,” Danny said, pressing kisses down Ethan’s neck. Ethan shuddered above him, before pulling back and pulling off the rest of Danny’s clothes, more of them tearing but Danny didn’t care. 

Ethan sat back on his knees once his clothes were off and pulled Danny into his lap, the human wrapping his arms around Ethan and kissing him as the wolf’s cock slid inside of him. He could feel the sting of claws digging into his hips, just enough to break skin. 

Danny looked down at Ethan, the wolf whimpering and growling as he thrust into Danny, pressing his forehead against Danny’s shoulder. Danny lifted Ethan’s chin and kisses him roughly, tasting more blood. He never thought having a sex with a werewolf in heat could be as hot as it was. 

Ethan broke their kiss to press kisses to Danny’s neck, his fangs grazing across Danny’s skin, Danny’s heart almost stopped as Ethan applied a little more pressure with his teeth, he dug his fingers into the wolf’s skin waiting, feeling just a little bit of fear before Ethan was pulling away and pressing another kiss to his neck. 

Danny pushed at Ethan’s chest, making him fall back against the bed. Ethan growled slightly, his eyes glowing impossibly brighter as Danny pressed his hands against Ethan’s chest and started to ride him, slowly at first to drive the wolf crazy before he was going faster and faster. 

He threw his head back and moaned loudly as he rode his boyfriend, the wolf’s clawed hands back on his hips helping his movements. Ethan was groaning, moving his hips up every time Danny came back down on his cock. 

The wolf was close, he had been on edge all day, the heat slowly consuming him. Danny leaned down for another kiss, whimpering as Ethan held his hips still and fucked him hard. “E-Ethan!” He groaned, fingers digging into the wolf’s chest. “F-fuck!”

Ethan flipped them over, not giving Danny any time to adjust before he was pounding into him. Danny clutched the sheets, keeping his eyes open to watch his boyfriend. He was so feral in that moment; Danny found it hot and terrifying at the same time. 

One of Ethan’s hands slid up and wrapped around Danny’s cock, stroking him being careful of his claws. The sight alone was undoing Danny and his moans escaladed until his was spilling, yelling out Ethan’s name. Ethan milked him through before he was gripping Danny’s hips again. Danny wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down, kissing him. The sensation of Ethan inside of him was too much, but he didn’t want him to stop either. “Come on Ethan, come for me,” Danny whispered between kisses. 

Ethan gasped suddenly his body going still before he was kissing Danny roughly as he shuddered and came inside of him. Danny moaned into the kiss, holding the wolf tightly as they came down from their high. 

The heat was cooled for now, but Ethan would be burning up again very soon, his body wanting to mate over and over again. For the moment, he pulled out of Danny and curled around him, the wolf inside of him calming at the touch of his mate.

* * *

21.

The hair on the back of Chris's neck prickles with awareness. He cocks his gun, chambering a round, and wishes he'd thought to slip on some shoes or a shirt before running outside in the middle of the night. A crisp, spring breeze, coupled with the knowledge that he's being watched, makes him shiver. There's a whisper of sound behind him, paws trampling the moist ground, and he spins, aiming his gun at nothing in the darkness.

It's a second too late when he realizes turning was a mistake, and the paws he heard moments before are pinning his shoulders to the ground. Sharp canines prickle at the back of his neck, a long, hot tongue licking at the sweat accumulated there. Harsh breaths pant in his ear, and he should be worried, he should be very worried—his gun is trapped uselessly under his chest, and the jaw clamped around his neck is strong enough to break it—but the fact that he's not dead already means there's mercy there.

He feels the scratching of claws around his thighs and ass and hears the fabric give way with very little resistance. The sudden splash of warmth on his back is accompanied by the scent of piss, and it's so bizarrely comforting, Chris almost chuckles. There's only one who marks him like this. The moon is high overhead and he hasn't seen Derek in weeks, expected him back days ago and grew worried when he hadn't returned. But the pull of the mate bond is strongest on full moons, so he should have expected this.

Chris groans, overwhelmed, when he feels the tip of Derek's wolf cock breach him before he's finished marking. His insides are on fire—the exquisite stretch from Derek's dick along with the increasing fullness from his piss—he can't help but cry out and dig his nails into the damp earth.

It's not long before the cock inside of him is buried deep and begins to harden. The wolf's coarse hair scratches the skin of his ass and his back, but he's so warm, so full; he cants his hips higher, lifting his ass and presenting himself to his wolf. 

Razor sharp incisors nip at the back of his neck as the wolf thrusts inside him. His movements are shallow, uneven, but Chris has never been so full, so turned on, so fucking close to coming so quickly as he is in this moment. That is, until he feels the base of Derek's dick begin to expand. Acting on reflex, he spreads his knees and pushes his ass higher in the air. The wolf won't hesitate to take what it wants from its mate, but Chris wants it too, always wants Derek's knot, his come, this rough-edged side of himself that Derek keeps hidden away.

And it's strange how this very lupine, animal thing about Derek always brings him back to Chris, but it does. As he feels Derek's knot lock inside his ass, he can feel the fur against his back begin to recede, and the paws dug into the ground beside his face lengthen into Derek's long-fingered hands. 

He's still grinding his hips into Chris's ass, the whole of Derek's cock growing as he shifts from alpha to beta form while still buried deep inside him. 

"Fuck, Chris," he growls into Chris's neck. "So good for me, take it so good."

Chris can only respond by reaching a hand behind him and threading his fingers through Derek's hair, pulling him closer. He wants Derek's teeth in his neck again, wants sharp incisors marking his neck and throat, wants his wolf.

He clenches his ass around Derek's knot, so desperate to come, so close, his stomach in tangles as he pushes Derek to the edge.

And finally Derek presses in harder, hard enough to smash Chris's belly to the ground, his cock into the soft earth, and the pressure and friction throw Chris over the edge. He comes with a shout, hand fisted in Derek's hair, ass clenching around Derek's cock.

Derek shivers as he comes, sending tremors through Chris's body.

"Want to breed you," he rumbles. "Keep you here til you're full of my come." 

A clawed hand reaches between Chris's stomach and the ground, presses itself against Chris's pelvis.

"Full of my pups," he whispers.

Chris is near bursting with Derek's dick, his knot, come, piss—he's never been fuller. But he thinks he'd carry Derek's pups if he could.

* * *

22.

The plan had been so fucking simple. Scott challenges the rogue alpha, the team sets it up all pretty, Stiles sets his ass on fire, and everyone got to go home

Simple.

Except the school hadn’t been empty and thanks to misguided heroics of the basketball jock with a heart of gold the rogue got away and the kid got a an origin story. This wasn’t Stiles’ first wolf watch but the situation’s gotten so far out of hand, so far out of his depth, that he might as well still be tied to a chair in the Argents basement.

“Listen kid, you need to calm down,” he tried soothing and was hauled up against the wall for the effort, shower tile cold against his back where the fabric of his shirt rucked up in protest. The Omega, Derek, looked like he belonged to a boy band on a magazine spread somewhere with his basketball uniform and too perfect hair. Not here in this small town locker room hell bent on putting his teeth in someone. In _Stiles_.

He tried to raise a forearm to keep some space between them but it was useless against the wolf’s so very earnest attempts to scent him. Derek’s frustrated growl was a hot-wet vibration against the tender skin just under Stiles’ ear, powerful enough that his whole body arched in titillated response. He’d been attempting to shove Derek away and somehow ended up flexing his hips forward in an unconscious attempt to get closer instead. His cock managed one mind meltingly hot deliberate stroke before Stiles could catch himself. Shock at the force of his response made Stiles clumsy and the hidden taser he tried to reach for clattered to tile, seemingly unnoticed. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, the prick of claws on his thighs oddly gentle as they grasped and lifted him, pinned him more solidly in place so that Derek’s body was one long uninterrupted line of heat against his. The Omega’s hair was soft against his cheek, breath hot against his throat, and Stiles’ heartbeat raced traitorously in delighted response. Judging from the greedy little “ _Mmm_ ,” sound the wolf made he heard it too.

“Yes, please,” Derek murmured happily. Then gave him the slyest, toothiest grin Stiles has ever seen outside of a Saturday morning cartoon. It’s wasn’t charming. 

It wasn’t.

“No!” Stiles hissed back a little desperately, his struggles nothing more than enticing wiggles at this point and already half-hard inside the tailored lines of his slacks. 

Derek’s eyes burned gold and he whined as if denied his favorite toy, body trembling with the excitement of the chase. Stiles bit back a shocked groan as he began to ground the hard line of his cock in needy little circles between his thighs. With a jolt he realized that the slightest hint of a rhythm and he could probably get the Omega off right here, right now, get him all soft and cum-slick in his jersey shorts. Just the thought of it made his whole body flush with heat. 

Derek’s nostrils flared and the predatory light in his eyes immediately faded into glassy eyed anticipation, breath harsh and mouth slightly open in invitation. One Stiles crumbling self control shamefully gave in to. He was light headed and suddenly maddened by the fierce urge to see this boy come. To _make_ him come.

“I want it,” Derek snarled in a monsters voice, but with all the petulant longing of a young man.

Stiles had instinctively froze for about half a second before he acted, moved with damn near preternatural speed to slide his hand in for a fistful of that perfect hair and pull. His body already rolling firmly against Derek’s in a steady and devastatingly effective rhythm. Legs locked tight around him and face so close they could kiss. He wanted to see and was not disappointed.

Dereks’ claws had already started to rake the tile restlessly, body hunching in jerky movements, and was groaning breathlessly against his mouth until every pant was an obscene echo. Sweat gleamed on both their skin and Stiles moved to bite at the fabric of Derek’s jersey to keep himself quiet, the scent of sex heavy between the press of their bodies. He wanted to sob with the merciless pressure of it, wanted to howl but the boy was already doing for him. Muffled vicious animals sounds of pleasure into his neck as the unmistakable swell of a knot twitched and pulsed wetly between them.

* * *

23.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Stiles panted, his breath hitching with Derek's every thrust. "Knot me," he breathed.

Stiles whined when Derek stopped moving.

"What is it?" Stiles turned to look over his shoulder, only to be met with Derek's horrified expression. "What's wrong?"

"I... I don't have a knot?"

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Was that supposed to be a question?"

"I don't have a knot," Derek repeated.

"That sucks," Stiles commented, hissing when Derek pressed at the rim of his hole in retaliation. "Christ."

" _Derek_ ," Derek corrected smugly, laughing when Stiles reached back blindly to hit him.

"Can you go back to fucking me now?" Stiles told him, clenching down onto Derek as he pulled out and relishing the groan Derek let out.

Derek pulled Stiles up and thrust back into him with a low moan. "Fuck, Stiles."

"Yeah, right there," Stiles reached down to jerk himself off as Derek's hands tightened on his hips. There were going to be bruises in the morning. "I'm so close, Derek," he whined, his hips pushing up into his grip, and Derek watched in awe at the fluid way Stiles' body moved, fucking up into his fist and back down against Derek.

"Me too," Derek admitted, his rhythm faltering. It only took a couple more thrusts before Derek let out a broken moan and spilled inside him. His teeth dug into Stiles' shoulder, and he whimpered when Derek reached down to wrap his hand around Stiles' and gave his cock a few tugs. A few moments later, Stiles came with a low cry over both their knuckles.

It took a while for Stiles to come down from his high, and when his vision cleared, he saw Derek carefully cleaning him up, and he felt a rush of fondness for his boyfriend.

"I love you," he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth.

"I love you too," Derek replied, just as quietly.

+++

"I have something for you," Derek whispered into Stiles' ear, following his words up with a sharp nip and smiling against Stiles' skin when Stiles' breath hitched and his hips pushed against Derek's own. "It's in the bag underneath my bed."

"I can get it later," Stiles whispered, his hands running down Derek's body, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. Before Derek could say another word, Stiles had already ducked his head to lick at his nipple.

" _Fuck_ , Stiles."

Stiles looked up to shoot him a wicked grin, before kissing his way down Derek's body and undoing the button of his jeans.

"Seriously, you'll love your gift," Derek murmured, even as his hand dropped into Stiles' hair.

Stiles hummed noncommittally, sucking a mark into Derek's hip. "I'm sure, babe."

"I'm not kidding," Derek said, lifting Stiles' chin with his fingers.

There was a moment of silence, where Stiles stared at Derek unblinkingly, before staring longingly at the bulge in Derek's boxer briefs.

"Fine," he sighed, using Derek's legs for leverage. "This better be good."

He plopped himself down onto the bed, making grabby hands at Derek when he held the box in his hands.

"You..." he trailed off, his eyes wide as it stared down at the package. "You got me a knotted dildo," he breathed out reverently, his hands trailing over it. He looked up and smirked when he saw Derek's mouth slightly open, his eyes tracking the movement of Stiles' fingers. "Can we use it tonight?"

Derek smiled smugly. "Yeah, we can."

He laughed when Stiles tackled him, pulling his legs up around his waist and kissing him.

"On your hands and knees," he muttered, smacking Stiles on the ass and shaking his head when Stiles yelped, wriggling out of his clothes. Derek ran a hand down Stiles' back and his ass reverently, spreading his cheeks apart and staring down at his hole. Ducking his head quickly, he licked a wet stripe over it, and smiled against the skin when Stiles moaned and pushed back for more.

Derek took his time rimming Stiles, opening him up slowly with his tongue and his fingers until Stiles was begging loudly for Derek to  _just fuck him already_.

He dragged the dildo across Stiles' hole, watching the way it clenched around nothing. "You love this," Derek teased.

He was prepared for Stiles screaming, and the way he ripped the pillow when the dildo slid in, but he wasn't prepared for the way Stiles stiffened immediately after the knot passed his rim and how he came untouched, kicking Derek in the face in the process.

* * *

24.

“He likes this, you know,” the thing inside Stiles snarls, even as Derek holds it firmly against the wall by the neck. “When you rough him up.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t engage with the nogitsune, but he has to keep it occupied for at least half an hour so Scott can try to get some answers from Deaton. And one thing the nogitsune seems to share with its host is a love of its own voice, so Derek has to keep it talking. “I do not _rough_ Stiles up.”

The thing chuckles, a mockery of Stiles’ bright laughter. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re doing it right now.”

“You’re not Stiles.”

“If I had a fucking nickel…” the thing sighs. “I have all his thoughts, his memories. I’m in his body, which, coincidentally, is where he’d like you to be right now. Or any time, really. He’s flexible. No, honestly, he’s _flexible_. He can almost suck his own dick. Wanna see?”

“Kind of hard to do anything when you can’t move,” Derek growls, squeezing Stiles’ wrists tighter and pressing them harder into his back.

“Ooh, shit, that’s good.” It rolls Stiles’ hips against the wall. “This body is so fucking turned on right now.”

Derek sucks in a deep breath through his nose and immediately regrets it. He can smell Stiles’ – its? – arousal, spiking above the baseline teenage horniness that usually surrounds him.

“I know all of his fantasies,” it purrs. “Most of them are about you.”

There’s no telling how much of this the real Stiles will remember and Derek desperately wants to tell the nogitsune to shut its fucking mouth, but if it’s busy tormenting Derek, it’s not trying to escape.

The thing takes Derek’s silence as permission to keep talking. “That doesn’t surprise you, does it? Maybe you’ve thought about it, too?”

Derek isn’t expecting that, and he goes completely still. The thing immediately starts laughing. “Aw, how sweet. A little love story unfolding right under everyone’s noses.” There’s a pause, and then the thing undulates Stiles’ body back against Derek. “I could let you have him, you know. Just like this.”

Derek shoves back immediately, gorge rising at the nogitsune’s words. _Chaos, strife, and pain_ , Derek remembers. This thing is strong enough to kill him, but that’s not what it wants.

“The things he wants you to do to him,” it says, smirking. “He’s creative, I’ll give him that much.”

Derek’s fangs drop and his claws slide out before he can control himself, and the thing grins. “Oh, yeah, he’s all about that. You fucking him while you hold your claws to his throat, the tips pressing in just enough that it stings a little every time his heart beats. He likes the fangs, too. Wonders how hard you’d have to bite before you’d break the skin, if that would hurt or if it’d feel good. My money’s on ‘hurt,’ but hey, that might be his thing.”

Derek cuts him off with a growl. “You need to stop talking right now.”

“Or what, Wolfman? I’ve been feeding on pure crazy for 70 years, but I’d still hate to put you out of your misery. It just tastes so fucking good.”

“You’re not going to win,” Derek says, and it sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“But what gets him off the hardest – I mean _really_ makes him bust a nut – is the thought of you shoving that big werewolf dick deep inside him and swelling up until he wants to scream. Seriously, his legs get shaky after that one, and he doesn’t even know if you have a knot.” Its cold eyes snap back to Derek’s face. “Do you have a knot? He’s absolutely _dying_ to know. He won’t last long after I use up this body, so the least you can do is tell hi—”

It never gets the chance to finish, because Derek has his hand around Stiles’ throat and lifts him off the ground. There’s only so much Derek can take. “When I fuck Stiles, long after you’re gone, it’ll be because _he_ asks me. And yeah, I’ll knot him so good he _will_ scream.”

There’s a knee in Derek’s chest shoving him backwards and knocking the wind out of him. But before he feels the size ten Converse connect with his temple and everything goes black, at least he knows he got in the last word. And maybe, wherever he is, Stiles heard it.

* * *

25.

#### Heat

"Heat." Derek says.

He's covered in a thin sheen of sweat, pupils dilated, panting like he can't get enough air. Stiles touches Derek's cheek. "Yeah," he says. "You're burning up. We should get you to Deaton. Is this a wolfsbane thing?"

"No." Derek leans into Stiles' touch like he wants more, but then pulls away. "It's just—" He lets out a heavy, anguished sigh. "I'm in heat."

Stiles stares as Derek lowers himself gingerly to sit on the end of his bed. "Heat," Stiles echoes. "Heat. Like, 'the dog is in heat', heat?"

There's accusation in Derek's weak glare, but desperation, too. "Yes, Stiles. The dog is in heat. I'm not sick, you can go."

It takes a few moments for Stiles to parse it before he moves. He heads for the bed, drops down beside Derek. "What do you need?"

Derek lifts his head like he's exhausted, surprise, even hope in his expression. Then it's gone. "I don't expect—"

"Stop," Stiles says.

Derek stares, eyes glassy, breathing hard. Then he presses into Stiles' side, like he can't get close enough.

"I'm here," Stiles whispers. "Tell me what you need."

Stiles has seen Derek vulnerable before. None of that compares to the moment Derek's resolve breaks, when he closes his eyes, twists his fingers into Stiles' shirt and tucks his face into the curve of Stiles' throat. "I need _you_ ," he moans, and Stiles' heart breaks for him.

"It _is_ a sex thing, right?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods.

"D'you wanna fuck me?"

Derek whimpers and shakes his head. "I need you inside me."

Stiles' brain seizes.

"Please," Derek moans, mouthing at Stiles' jaw and pulling at his clothes. " _Stiles_."

"Okay." Stiles tugs his shirt over his head, then holds Derek's face in his hands and presses their lips together. "Yeah, I can do that."

Stiles imagines it like the handful of times they've done it before, but with Derek on his back instead of Stiles. But when Derek gets out of his clothes he crawls into the middle of the bed and presses his shoulders into the mattress, thighs spread, ass in the air. His hole is pink and puffy, glistening, like he's already been fucked. "Did you—" Stiles wonders, dragging a finger around Derek's rim.

Derek shakes his head, quivering under Stiles' touch. "Please."

Stiles brings his finger to his mouth. The taste is reminiscent of precome, softer somehow, sweeter. It's slick like lube, and two fingers slide easily into Derek's body.

Stiles lets out a moan. "So hot." He imagines what it'll feel like around his dick. He's going to come as soon as he gets inside.

Derek shudders. He pushes back. "Fuck me, Stiles," he begs, twisting, reaching back to grip Stiles' thigh. "Need it."

"Yeah," Stiles murmurs, sliding his fingers out of Derek's ass, wrapping them around his dick. He's achingly hard, leaking precome that's slicked down his shaft. He presses the head of his cock to Derek's hole, pushes it in with his thumb.

"Holy crap." Derek's ass seems to grab him, dragging him in. He pushes forward involuntarily, sinks deep in one accidental thrust. Derek makes a deep, resonant sound of satisfaction.

They still for a moment, Derek sighing as he clenches down. Then, "Move," he says, his voice a rasping groan.

Stiles does, pushing upright, holding Derek's hip with one hand, stroking Derek's cock with the other. He pulls back, slides back in. His orgasm teases at the edge of his consciousness, threatening to break at any moment, and Derek's soft grunts intersperse with cries that grow higher in pitch with each thrust.

Derek stiffens, ass clenching down on Stiles' dick. Stiles gives another thrust, another stroke, and Derek starts to come with a long, drawn out groan, his body jerking with every spasm.

Unable to hold back, Stiles pushes deep and hard, shuddering with each pulse as he empties his balls into Derek's body.

They collapse in a sweaty tangle of limbs to catch their breath.

"Heat," Stiles says. "I didn't know."

Derek sighs, closes his eyes. "Born werewolves. Once every few years if you're lucky. But now I'm with you." He opens them again, and there's a crease of worry between his brows.

"More often?"

Derek nods. "I can stay away if you'd rather not— A few days, and it passes."

"Hell no," Stiles says. "I'm going to look after you."

"For a change?" Derek's lips tug up at the corner.

"Ha," Stiles scoffs, and drags Derek into a kiss.

* * *

26.

He puts his teeth in her neck, his cock in her cunt, legs hooked over his shoulders. Feels the soft curl of her tails around his thighs, he tightens them, driving deeper into her. She puts claws in his back, baring her canines at him, flashing her eyes. He flashes his in return but she doesn't quiet. Doesn't take her nails out of his flesh, just brings them down. It's exhilarating, not having control of her. The wild eyes, not wolf or lizard or human. Glaring, daring him to do better.

He wraps his arms around her, holding her closer, pushing in deeper, and she squeals for it, breaths coming in long, exhausted sobs. Ears pinned back against the top of her head. Fangs out, mumbles half formed: "Fuck, Scott, fuck me, _fuck me_."

•••

She called in sick after the lightning storm. The two events had had the potential to be isolated. Still, Scott visited after school. And he didn't use the front door. And when he scaled his way to her bedroom window, he carefully avoided the glass door to the living room. Just in case. Pushed her window open; crawled in silently; followed her scent the whole way, bodily possessed.

Silence didn't keep him from being caught. He'd been pinned to the floor before he could whisper her name, heavy breaths and pointy things weighing him down. He surged up and she surged in, kissing him blind, biting at his lips. He pushed her down, rolled on top. Stopped. Her _ears_?

"Kira, what happened to your head?" was not the smartest way to ask his question, her face scrunching into a cocktail blend of hurt and confused and aroused. He gaped for a moment, but before any other sewage could spill, she told him,

"No time, Scott, please, I _need_ you."

•••

The fourth time she comes, she does so without his thumb between her legs, arm jimmied between their writhing selves, shoulder putting distance between their faces. This time, her face is wedged into the space between his neck and his jaw, teeth curled around him while his hand grips at her hair, right between the two fox ears right on the top of her head. She comes on his dick, and he feels it begin to swell at the base, catching on her opening, movement becoming more difficult.

"Scott," she moans, both pushing and pulling at him. He reaches for her arms to hold them down but she squirms, jamming his hands away. He snarls, showing teeth, and bucks in. The swollen knot shoves forward, into the wet heat of her pussy. She shouts, as does he. The binding bliss of orgasm takes him, and he goes.

•••

"Kira, _what_ —"

She surged forward, kissing him wholly on the lips, and he had to grab her and wrench her back. Rational thought wasn't coming easily, but he knew that the fox ears and the nine tails were not there the day before she called in sick. He tried to ask her what was wrong with her body and what was that _amazing smell_ when she interjected,

"Scott, we don't have time. I _need_ you. _Now_."

•••

The fog lasts longer than he expects, and he can't pull out. Confusion leads to him almost hurting her, but she puts her legs around his waist and her hands around his face and just holds him. When he calms, she cards her fingers through his hair; he rests his head on her shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize that his claws are retracting and his teeth are shrinking back to their human constitution. He looks to her, brows furrowed.

"You've been wolfed out for awhile."

He closes his eyes and inhales. The scent of her has retreated, but it lingers, keeping him high. He tries to pull out again, almost gets free before she's stopping him again, nails deep in the skin of his neck.

"So, this… _this_ …," he starts, but doesn't know how to finish. Just shakes his head and asks, "Did you have anything to do with the lightning storm?"

She laughs. Snide, but amused. "Yeah. That was when all of this," and she gestures lazily around the room, "started."

"It's not over, huh?"

She takes his face in her hands, smiles down at him, and one fox ear twitches. "Not yet," she murmurs, leaning in to brush their lips together. "I think it's gonna be a _long_ weekend."


	6. Group B - no warnings or pairings

27.

It was a hot night unusual for the time of year and Lydia left her window open, not worried about things that go bump in the night so much now that there was a pack of friends around her. Plus her room was on the 2nd floor of the house and one had to be very agile to climb the three just to the side of it. It was a bright full moon as well, and it cast an eerie white light over the town.

Startled out of sleep Lydia rubbed her eyes and looked around. She'd gotten used to vivid dreams both good and bad, though they had become fewer than before. But that had happened before too and then gotten bad again. She tensed up as she realised she wasn't alone and blinked as her eyes got used to the darkness of her room. And that's when she could start to see the outline of someone else, standing by her window. They were tall and thin if she was seeing right. And then she saw the glow of yellow eyes and her first thought was friend or foe?

A werewolf.

"You once promised me a date when my bike didn't have chain on it do you remember?"

Issac.

Lydia smiled and nodded slowly in the dark her eyes now more accustomed to the dark. But also helped by he full moon outside too. "I remember."

He moved to the side of her bed and leaned down closer toward her. "I've something much better now you know." He smiled in that way that was just so him and set his hands on her bed.

She reached over to turn on the lamp and he grabbed her wrist. It wasn't tight but it did stop her and she looked up at him. "Don't." He sat on the edge of her bed, hands on her legs under the blanket. Lydia wasn't frightened of him but she was curious to this sudden talk of their past and of him being here too.

He leaned in closer to her, nubbing against her cheek, nuzzling against her neck and was making soft almost cooing sounds. "I feel strange. I need your help."

"Isaac what's wrong?"

He pulled his jacket off and tossed it on the ground and then tugged for his shirt and pulled it off as well. His eyes were glowing and he was looking more and more... well, dangerous. "It's a special moon Derek says, and wolves' senses and urges are greater." He pulled away the bedspread and moved in next to her, his legs against her bare one. "I don't want to do that but I don't want to be alone. Can.. will you just hold me through it?"

Lydia was inwardly protesting as Isaac spoke and didn't know what he was thinking but when he asked so sweetly she couldn't deny him and lay back in back motioning him to join her. Isaac sighed and lay down, but was pressed against her, arms around her and his face pressed against her neck. He kept touching her, rubbing against her and petting her bare skin.

"Maybe tomorrow you could take me for a ride on your bike.

* * *

28.

The first time Stiles felt Derek's fur against his face he gasped. It was mostly accidental – Derek has just finished scaring off the monster of the week, Stiles' brain didn't have time to comprehend the shape of the monster beyond claws and wings before it swiped at Stiles, leaving him crumpled against a tree.

Derek leaned down to pick Stiles up, face brushing against Stiles' neck as he manoeuvred Stiles carefully over his shoulder. Stiles shivered as he felt the combined rough fur and careful prick of claws. He put it down to nerves and adrenaline and ow ow, his ribs were painful.

Stiles didn't even really think about it until he was in the shower, hand around his cock. He flashed back to the feel of fur against his face and shuddered, coming over the wall of the shower. He stared, breathless as the water washed his come away and shrugged. _That was new_. 

~~~

“How much control do you have over the transformation?” Stiles asked, way too lightly. He winced as Derek looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “Hypothetically?”

Derek's mouth twisted but he answered. “Pretty fine.” 

“So, say, just teeth? Or I suppose, teeth and jaw. Or just claws?”

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles sighed. 

“I want you to fuck me while furry,” Stiles said in a rush, flushing a bright red. He licked his lips and Derek's eyes fell to his mouth, instinctively.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Derek replied. 

“You're sexy when you quote internet memes. I've done so well.” 

“I could probably do that,” Derek said, as if Stiles hadn't spoken. “I've never tried it before though. Never used it for – that.” 

“Would you want to?”

Derek shrugged. “Sure. I mean, its not a fantasy, but if you find it hot, I'll do it. It doesn't make me want to run away.”

Stiles nodded. “That's something.” 

~~~

It took a while. And lots of making out. Stiles' face was red raw, he had light red scratches down his sides and he loved it. It wasn't the danger – he was happy having no danger, which is why he trusted Derek to do it – it was pure sensation that Stiles was interested in. 

Derek knelt between his legs and Stiles had to fight to keep his eyes open. Derek paused and Stiles could almost hear the transformation. The sideburns tickled the inside of his thighs as Derek moved closer. 

Derek was so so careful, Stiles could feel the nip of teeth on his thigh, but as soon as his erection was enveloped in Derek's mouth it was all soft hot wetness. Stiles moaned, low and long, back arching. 

It was intoxicating, Stiles loved getting his cock sucked but the roughness of the fur made a contrast that just made him hotter. He felt his orgasm at the base of his spine, and he thrust once, hissing as Derek tightened his grip on Stiles' thighs, claws digging in slightly. 

Stiles groaned and came, curling up slightly. He panted, watching Derek move away gently. He wiped his mouth, transforming back.

“Give me a minute,” Stiles panted. “That was awesome. Like, really awesome.” 

“I noticed you enjoyed it,” Derek replied, moving Stiles over so he could lie next to Stiles on the bed. 

“Thank you,” Stiles mumbled, leaning over to kiss Derek.

“Welcome,” Derek muttered.

* * *

29.

Stiles adjusted the sleeves of his lab coat as he stepped into the examination room. He loved his job, but he had a feeling that today was going to be something special, if the file on this particular subject was anything to go by.

As expected, the subject had already been set up, laid out flat on his back with thick leather cuffs holding arms and legs spread wide open.

On a nearby table a pair of latex gloves had already been set out, and Stiles didn’t hesitate to grab them, snapping them into place and smirking when the sound caused the subject to jerk futilely.

“Now now, none of that,” he said, turning around and placing a soothing hand on quivering thighs. “No use in getting wound up before I’ve even done anything, amiright?”

The subject didn’t say anything, just glowered up at Stiles with glowing eyes, mouth only partially able to frown around protruding teeth. Stiles was pleased. It wasn’t necessary for subjects to be shifted in order for him to get the data he needed, but he himself always thought it was more interesting this way.

“Ok big guy, lets see if we can get things warmed up.” Stiles reach back toward the same table where his gloves had been, and grabbed a bottle of lube. He squirted a generous amount into one gloved hand, before reaching forward to touch. He stroked his hands in long teasing glides to start off, massaging lightly before he arrowed straight toward his ultimate goal.

The subject’s cock was still soft, a comfortable handful that felt good through the layers of latex and slippery lube. Stiles kept his strokes easy, and he smiled in triumph when the cock in his hands began to chub up. Once fully hard, Stiles carefully noted the dimensions of the erection, satisfied at its size and girth, and unable to keep his own body from reacting—It was acceptable for him to react of course, so long as he didn’t actively overstep the lines of professionalism that his job entailed.

Notes made, he only spent a few more minutes playing with his subject’s cock, just to enjoy the feel of it. He still had work to do however, so he finally moved on, squirting another dollop of lube into his hands, before moving on to the subject’s ass. Stiles was pleased to note that he was shaved there, the skin smooth and inviting, and he didn’t waste a second before slipping a finger inside. It went in so smoothly that when he withdrew them, he pressed two back in. The subject on the table made a low rumbling growl at that, and Stiles smirked at the vocalization. When his hands weren’t quite so tied up, he would make a note of the sound as a sign of the subject’s sensitivity.

With a precision born of practice, Stiles then aimed for the subject’s prostate, finding it and massaging it mercilessly. His other hand reached up, catching the subject’s cock, just as it gave a noticeable jump at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. The growls increased in pitch, becoming almost sub-vocal as Stiles continued to work him, one hand milking at him from the inside, while the other fisted around the thick cock, working in tight up and down strokes that he hoped would be enough to get him the final bit of data that he needed.

He wasn’t disappointed. A few moments later the subject’s body went rigid, and when Stiles worked his hands down one more time, he was met with the growing bulge of an impressive knot. It was too big for him to get one fist around, so he pulled his other hand free from the subject’s ass and double fisted his hands together, wrapping the cock tight and squeezing with a steady pressure. The subject did the rest, arching his hips up to lock the knot into Stiles’ cupped hands, which were almost immediately covered in a thick splash of milky semen.

Oh yes, now Stiles could finally get the data he truly needed

~~~

Stiles unlocked the leather cuffs from Derek’s limbs, before gently wiping him down with a wet towel.

“You ok?” he asked.

Derek hummed, pulling Stiles down to the “examination table” beside him, the sheets still sticky with an impressive amount of come. He smiled drowsily at Stiles, and flicked at the name tag, clipped to the remnants of an old Halloween costume, that read simply “Dr. Feel Good.”

* * *

30.

After the game, Stiles somehow beats Derek back to Derek's apartment and is settled on the sofa with the package in his lap, gazing down at it with a mix of reverence and glee. That ratchets up Derek's curiosity and he drops himself on the opposite end, reaching for the box. Stiles catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and slams the box shut.

"I need to explain," he says, his eyes turning panicky and Derek's everything freezes. Including, he's pretty sure, his heart. Stiles continues without noticing.

"Remember that first time we fucked, when you finally let me get my hands on your dick, and I found out the knot thing was a myth?"

Derek facepalms; there's no way he could forget Stiles' disappointment from that night, or how hard he tried to cover it. 

"Well, it took me awhile, but I found something." The sofa creaks as he leans forward and then there's the soft weight of something in Derek's lap. He drags his hand down to his mouth and finds himself staring at a red and yellow dildo that sort of reminds him of the Iron Man suit. Despite that, the dildo looks intriguing, with its pointier tip and gill-like ridges on either side. The main attraction of it, Derek assumes, is the swelling at the base. Not huge, but thicker than Derek's dick, probably. Derek takes it out of the box and wraps his hand around the knot; his fingers don't quite touch.

"I started out small," Stiles goes on. He's all nerves, his hands trying to do the talking for him. "The biggest they had was ten and a half. I want to come, not tear myself apart." He takes the dildo from Derek and strokes it once, his eyes going dark. "If you don't want to, I can—"

"No," Derek says immediately. "I want to." 

Derek isn't sure what happens to his clothes after that. All he knows is Stiles leading him to the bed still smelling of grass and soap. Stiles' dick hard and bobbing smacking his stomach as he falls to the bed, the lazy spread of his legs. Derek follows him down, trying to take his time kissing Stiles, but he's eager and keeps nudging Derek in the butt.

"Derek c'mon," he croons, nipping at Derek's mouth. "You can take it as slow as you want, after, but I can't wait. Please," he pleads, pushing the lube into Derek's hand.

It seems to take no time at all for Derek to finger Stiles open, to roll on the condom, to tease Stiles with the pointed tip.

"Ah, _christ_. Talk about ribbed for my pleasure. This feels amazing."

Derek can't feel it, but the greedy clutch of Stiles' hole around lurid red and gold is pretty amazing, too. He wants to get his mouth on Stiles' drooling dick, but can't stop watching the slick in and out. 

Stiles groans when Derek starts to press a little deeper, letting Stiles feel the swell of the knot. A hand lands on Derek's shoulder and squeezes. Stiles grits out, "Do it. I'm okay."

He works it in with a series of shallow thrusts and twists. Stiles shudders, his own hips moving until the thickest part of the knot is inside him. His gasp is electric, his nails digging hard into Derek's shoulder, and Derek looks up to see Stiles red from the chest up, his eyes glazed over.

"Oh my fucking god," Stiles moans. His hips haven't stilled, and Derek can see the tiny movements of the dildo, rocking inside Stiles. Derek thumps the wide base with his thumb, and twists it a little more, until Stiles howls, "I'm gonna— Derek!"

Derek surges up to get his mouth on Stiles' dick and has enough time to give him two quick bobs. Stiles comes on a shuddery breath, shooting over Derek's tongue and cheek. The best part, is Stiles sweaty and trembling, limp and beaming. Derek crawls up Stiles' body, bumping their dicks together along the way, and covers Stiles to keep him warm and grounded.

It takes Stiles a little longer than normal to come down. To wrap his arms around Derek's neck and hold on through Derek's tiny, hitching thrusts. He aims a pleased hum at Derek's ear and shimmies his hips. "Aren't you gonna fuck me?"

Derek stills. "D'you think that's a good idea?"

Stiles grins. "All my ideas are good ideas."

Derek could argue with that, but he won't.

* * *

31.

“How does it feel?” Derek’s breath is hot on Stiles’ neck, voice raw, desperate. “Tell me,” he whispers. His arms tighten around Stiles as he holds him close.

Stiles pushes back against Derek’s sweat-slick chest. He’s used to this, knows exactly what to do to make them both comfortable while they ride out the waves of pleasure, as Derek’s knot swells inside him.

“Full,” Stiles replies. “Stretched out and so fucking _full.”_

Derek growls against his ear, nips at his neck. “Just for you,” he says. “Only you.” 

Carefully, he rolls to his back, pulling Stiles with him. They could lie like this for hours, Stiles’ back to Derek’s chest, feet flat against the bed bracketing Derek’s calves. He could fall asleep this way, filled up—they’ve done it plenty of times before—but Stiles isn’t done. 

He can still feel the throb of Derek’s cock inside him, the hot pulse of come painting his insides. He pulls himself up to sitting, drags his feet up the bed so he’s resting on his knees. 

It takes a moment of stillness to get used to the new angle. His head is bowed, eyes closed as he narrows his focus to the feel of Derek filling him up. Stiles scritches his nails through the coarse hair on Derek’s thighs, and then begins to move. His range of motion is limited while they’re tied together like this, but that doesn’t stop him from finding his own pleasure. He presses down and rocks himself on Derek’s cock, circling his hips so he can feel Derek’s knot _everywhere._

Derek cries out at the sensation, a loud whimpering moan that causes Stiles’ skin to tighten and prickle with goosebumps. Clawed fingers drag down his back, and Stiles arches into the touch, eliciting another groan of pleasure from Derek. 

“I could show you,” Stiles says between panting breaths. He rolls his hips again, lips parting on a silent moan as Derek’s knot drags against Stiles’ prostate. “If you let me, I could fill you up this way.” Stiles chokes on the last of his words as Derek thrusts up, fingers curling around Stiles’ hips. He pulls him down, uses inhuman strength to slide Stiles back and forth until all Stiles can do is hang on for dear life, gripping Derek’s muscled thighs and grinding down. 

"And how would you do that?" Derek asks. The pulsing of his dick has slowed, but his grip on Stiles is still firm as he moves him on his cock, and Stiles knows it's just for him; for his own pleasure, his own release that Derek is driving him toward. _"Tell me.”_

"I could—" He’s breathless from the pleasure coiling inside him, hot and tight. "I could do it," Stiles manages. "I could wrap a fist around my cock and _fuck_ you with everything I have." 

Derek hisses in a breath, his toes curling at Stiles' words. 

Stiles has seen toys that are thicker at their base, but he's always preferred Derek's dick to anything inorganic. He could buy one of those to start Derek off. He does like the idea of jerking himself off inside Derek; fist-fucking him as hard and long as either of them can stand it. 

"Yeah?" Derek rasps after a moment, as if he's only just rediscovered his voice. Hands trail up and down Stiles' back, fingertips kneading into the curve of his ass as Derek spreads him open further. 

"I'd start with a finger," Stiles says. "Push it into you while you're stretched around my cock." 

Derek moans, slicking a thumb along Stiles' stretched rim, like he always does, loving the feel of Stiles around his knot.

"And then another," Stiles continues. "It'll feel so good, Derek. You'll be so full, you won't ever want me to stop fucking you." 

Derek sits up, pressing open-mouthed kisses across Stiles' back, drags his hands down Stiles' chest, pausing to scratch blunt nails over his nipples. He presses the flat of his palm to Stiles' lower belly. 

"Would you fuck me until I was swollen with your come?" Derek's teeth clamp down on Stiles shoulder, and Stiles shudders. The color bleeds out of his vision as his orgasm crashes through him. He’s squeezing around Derek, gripping him in his heat, like his body is reluctant for it to be over. 

Derek maneuvers them back into a more comfortable position, Stiles splayed out on top of him. 

“I want you to,” he says, kissing the side of Stiles’ neck. "Next time." 

* * *

32.

"God, Derek," Stiles gasped as Derek bent down over him, tugging down his boxers, freeing his cock _finally_ after what had felt like hours of teasing touches. "Please, I need _more_." 

The deep growl Stiles received in response sent a shiver down his spine punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. He held onto Derek as he bent over him, dragging him into a lewd kiss, wet and filthy and nearly everything that Stiles wanted.

Stiles was desperate. Hungry for more of Derek than he had ever gotten before. Derek had always been so gentle with him, even during their most heated moments. Stiles knew there was more to him, though, a rougher, darker side that he hadn't yet gotten to experience. A side that he wanted more than anything.

Stiles had asked before, had practically begged once, but Derek never gave in. He had his reasons and most of them began and ended with Stiles being human, _fragile_. Stiles knew he wasn't as delicate as Derek had made him out to be. He just had to make Derek understand.

Stiles dug his fingernails into Derek's skin, just hard enough to make indents. Derek _whimpered_ , his face pressed in against Stiles' neck, breath ghosting over his skin. "Stiles..." he said, his voice a warning that Stiles didn't care to heed.

"Please, Derek," Stiles begged, his body arching into his touch. "Just let go... For me."

Stiles could tell Derek was just on this edge of control and he knew that he was pushing past the last boundaries Derek had built up. All it would take is just one more little shove. What that shove was, though, Stiles still didn't know. He moaned and writhed against Derek, pushing down on the slick fingers that were already working him open, clearly desperate for more. Still, though, Derek didn't give in.

Derek was a model of control and it frustrated Stiles to no end, especially because he wasn't anything like him. Control was something Stiles fought hard for and rarely achieved. Control of his thoughts, control of his limbs. It all escaped him. For once, Stiles wanted Derek to join him, to feel the exhilaration of letting go. 

Stiles felt a third finger press inside him and it _ached_ with how badly Stiles needed more. "Derek," Stiles moaned, rocking back on Derek's fingers, feeling him press deep. "Come on," he pleaded, " _fuck_ me."

 _There it was_. There was a broken growl from Derek and fingers being pulled free only to be replaced with something much thicker and hotter. Stiles cried out, clinging to Derek as he felt the delicious burn of being stretched open. "Yes," Stiles whimpered, legs wrapping around Derek, "Fuck me, Derek, come on. Let go."

"Stiles..." Derek's voice was rough and desperate, making it clear to Stiles that his wish had been granted. Stiles could feel the prick of Derek's claws against him as they grew out, pressing into his skin as Derek held him steady, his hips already working into a rhythm as he fucked Stiles.

Stiles dropped his head back, baring his neck more for Derek, submitting to him entirely. Derek took the hint and nipped at Stiles' skin, dangerously sharp fangs scraping along his pulse, making Stiles shiver. His tongue followed and the way he lapped at Stiles' sweat slick skin after each scrape of his teeth reduced Stiles into a mess of hungry whimpers and clinging limbs.

It was only a matter of time before Stiles couldn't hold on any longer, Derek thrusting into him so that Stiles knew he would feel for days, it burned in a way that Stiles had craved, ached like he never wanted to forget. He hadn't even had a chance to get his hand on his own cock before he felt his orgasm hit him, his entire body tensing in the sudden rush of his release, come spilling out across his stomach. Derek practically roared as his own hit him, his voice ringing in Stiles' ears as he felt him pulsing inside him, filling him up as his hips pressed flush against him.

It was some time later that they were coming down, both their hearts pounding in their chests, Derek still nuzzling against Stiles' neck, now blunt teeth scraping over his skin. "We've got to do that again sometime," Stiles murmured, one hand playing with Derek's hair. The low rumble of laughter that he received in return was enough for Stiles to know that Derek was in agreement.

* * *

33.

Isaac tightened his hands in Scott’s soft brown hair as Scott slowly trailed kissed up his neck. Being kissed by Scott was surely the greatest high he would ever experience. Scott’s lips were so soft and perfect and he knew exactly the right spots to hit to elicit a response from Isaac. The way he cradled Isaac’s head in his hands spoke volumes about how he felt about Isaac. Truly, Isaac wouldn’t change a thing...well, maybe one.

As much as he loved how gentle Scott was, sometimes he just wanted Scott to truly be the Alpha in bed - to dominate him and take him. But Isaac didn’t know how to verbalize this and unfortunately, subtle (and not so subtle) hints never worked.

Isaac tried several different things. He raked his hands down Scott’s back, hard enough to draw blood. He actually put Scott’s hand around his throat at one point. Every time Scott just stopped and kissed Isaac and went back to whatever tender ministrations he had been doing before.

Finally, Isaac almost literally bit the bullet and almost took a chunk out of Scott’s neck in the middle of giving him a hickey.

Scott yelped and jumped back. He looked at Isaac incredulously. “What the hell, Isaac?”

Isaac feigned innocence and shrugged. “What do you expect? I’m a werewolf.”

“You’re a werewolf, not a vampire.” Scott said as he rubbed at his neck.

Frustrated, Isaac sat up. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little adventurous in bed. Maybe you could stand to be a little rougher as well.”

Scott looked down and gulped. “I don’t want to be rougher.”

“Why not?”

“Because I...I don’t want to hurt you.”

Isaac threw back his head and laughed. “Hello, Scott. Haven’t you heard of a little thing called werewolf healing. You’re not going to hurt me no matter what you do.”

Scott shook his head. “That’s not true. I can’t do that with you not with what you’ve been through.”

And there it was. Isaac had really hoped that his past wasn’t the reason Scott was treating him with kid gloves, but of course it was. A part of Isaac just wanted to kiss Scott for being...well Scott and being so considerate and kind and loving. But a bigger part wanted to throttle him.

“You don’t want to damage poor, abused Isaac.” Isaac said his voice dripped with anger, and more than that, with hurt.

Scott looked up quickly and seemed to realize that he had said the wrong thing. “That’s not...I didn’t mean it like…”

“Like what?” Isaac got in Scott’s face. “Do you still see me as some sort of victim, Scott?”

“No!”

“Because I’m not. I refuse to be let what happened to me define the rest of my life.” 

“I know.” Scott said as he cupped Isaac’s face in his hands. “I just don’t want to do the wrong thing with you. I care about you so much.”

Isaac instantly melted. He realized he was being a little hard on Scott. It was just he never wanted Scott of all people to see him still as some pathetic person who needed to be protected. “Scott, I spent so much of my life being scared and not knowing who I was and what I wanted. But I know what I want now. And I’m not going to let my father and what happened take that away.” He climbed in Scott’s lap. “I’m willing to give you everything I have Scott. I want you to take it. Make me yours.”

Scott looked into Isaac’s eyes before he surged forward and gave Isaac an open-mouthed kiss full of desire and passion. He pulled back on Isaac’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

When Isaac yelped briefly, Scott paused briefly.

Isaac shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s good.”

They both giggled before Scott pushed Isaac down roughly. He climbed on top of Isaac and yanked back on his hair. 

Isaac moaned loudly.

Scott buried his nose in his neck and sniffed deeply.

Isaac threw his legs around Scott’s waist. 

Before Isaac knew what happened, Scott had entered him roughly.

Isaac groaned and threw his chest out. Scott held him down by his hair and plowed into him. Scott’s nose trailed up his neck and bit down on Isaac’s earlobe and whispered. “You’re mine.”

Isaac came as Scott bit down on his neck and truly took everything Isaac had to give him. Isaac was his body and soul.

* * *

34.

"Are you sure you want to try this?" Derek asks for the third time.

Stiles groans and shoots a glare over his shoulder. "If you don't fuck me soon, I'm going to go home."

"No, you won't."

"No, I won't. But you really need to hurry up and fuck me or I'm going to come."

"Just from this?" Derek asks with a grin as he twists his fingers inside of Stiles. The move earns him a deep groan, followed by a desperate whimper.

"Yes, just from that."

On another day he's going to have to try that – fingerfucking Stiles until he comes from Derek's hand alone. Maybe he'll go so far as fisting. He kind of wants to see what Stiles would look like stretched out over Derek's knuckles. But that's for another time. They have something else on their agenda today.

Derek sits back on his heels, letting his fingers slip out of Stiles with a faint bit of regret. He shifts upon his knees and then he shifts again. The change always feels so natural to him. He knows the others think it feels weird but unlike them he was born a wolf. It will always feel like second nature to let his skin ripple. His eyebrows recede. His forehead ridges. His ears elongate. His nails sharpen to claws. But, the big change, the one Stiles is so adamant about trying – ever since he heard about it from Scott – is the knot that forms at the base of his penis.

He places his hands carefully on the sides of Stiles's hips, gentler than he's ever been. He doesn't want to scratch Stiles or end their night of lovemaking with a trip to the emergency room. He wiggles forward on his knees until he can line up. His dick is hard – how could it not be with Stiles's perfect ass on display for him. Stiles moans again as Derek's dick kisses his entrance and that's all the encouragement Derek needs to push forward.

This is not the first time he's fucked Stiles but it feels like it. Everything is hyper-sensitive with his werewolf senses. He can smell Stiles's arousal like a heavy perfume, mingling with sweat and precum. Stiles's hands fist in the pillow and Derek hears the way the fabric bunches and Stiles's muscles tense. Stiles feels so good. He always has. Too good for Derek to resist burying himself in that sweet, sweet body.

Once he's fully seated he leans forward and licks a droplet of sweat from Stiles's neck, making Stiles shiver beneath him.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asks as he begins to fuck Stiles in earnest. The top of his knot bumps against Stiles's entrance with every thrust but doesn't enter him, not yet.

"Yes," Stiles moans. His head dips low towards the pillow. He rolls his hips into each thrust. "Yes. Please."

"Since you asked so nicely..." Derek picks up the pace. It doesn't take much to get Stiles panting, to make it so that Stiles is practically writhing beneath him, pushing back and forth on Derek's cock as he tries to get more, faster, deeper.

He knows Stiles is close, he has been since before Derek entered him. It takes a few minutes for Derek to build up to it. Part of it is that he doesn't want to end this, not yet. Part of him is scared that he's going to hurt Stiles.

"Please. Knot me," Stiles begs, and who is Derek to resist. He thrusts hard, pushing his knot all the way inside of Stiles. Warm heat tightens around the very base of him and he can't help it – he comes.

Stiles gasps beneath him, trapped by the sudden surge of Derek on top of him. He belatedly realizes that he's pressing Stiles down into the bed with his weight and pushes himself up with his arms, giving Stiles a little room to breathe. Not that Stiles seems to care about breathing. He's too busy humping the sheets, coming onto the mattress with hard, sharp jerks of his body.

Derek waits until Stiles stills before shifting back to human form. The knot recedes, freeing their bodies so that he can slip out of Stiles and roll to one side.

"Was that everything you hoped for?" Derek asks.

Stiles turns his head, not bothering to move out of the growing wet pool he's lying in. "And more."

"Maybe if you're good we'll do it again."

Stiles just grins.

* * *

35.

The Sheriff has a kind heart. After his wife's death he chose to open his home. It started out with fostering, then lead to adoption. And now Stiles can't run from the loudness and constant interruptions fast enough. Between his dad and his 9 siblings, it's no wonder the only way Stiles can get a moment with his dick, is when he takes his nightly walk through the woods behind his house. 

He's got a favorite spot, about a 20 minute hike from the main trail. There is a small clearing where a soft patch of blue grass grows. 

He's always obscenely hard by the time he's thrown his clothes off and is stripping his cock under the stars. Here Stiles feels free. Unembarrassed, unashamed. Free from the noisy kids that have taken over every inch of his life.

Stiles wanks in even numbers. He likes coming in twos. So his first orgasm is always hurried and inelegant. Just quick strokes that have him shooting a geyser over his stomach and the ground. When he comes he shouts and laughs and doesn't hold back his throaty cries. 

His dick is twitching. He only gives himself a few moments before he sets in on the long wank. The one where he spends just as much time caressing his neck, nipples and balls as he does rubbing his palm up and down his cock. 

He's so into his wank he doesn't hear the sounds of the three wolves that have been stalking him for weeks approach. 

They are at the tree line. Eyes burning bright. Primary red, yellow, blue. Two girls and a boy wolf. 

The wolves surround Stiles. 

He senses something, and opens his eyes to see a wolf staring down at him. He reacts fast, crawling backwards as fast as his crab walk will take him. Right into a hairy wall -- another wolf who flashes her yellow eyes at Stiles when he whips his head around. 

“ _Fuuuuuck,_ ” he screams out, just in time to see another wolf with bright blue eyes. 

Stiles doesn't know why, but after the initial shock wears off, he's really not scared. They’re just looking down at him, and he senses their want.

Stiles lays himself down, an invitation for them to do what they please. He just closes his eyes and waits. 

The first lick comes from his right -- the red eyed wolf, he suspects. She licks his chest and trails down to his armpit. The sensation is startling, but then, it feels so _good_. Stiles's dick starts to get hard again from where it had flagged from fright. 

The wolf on his left starts her ministrations on his groin. She licks his hair, then his length to the tip of his dick. 

Stiles cries out because it feels _amazing_. The boy wolf starts in on his sensitive balls. He’s licking with long broad strokes until Stiles can't help but spread his legs wide, inviting the wolf to lick at his throbbing hole. 

Right as the wolf dips his tongue into Stiles's ass, Stiles's back bows and he’s shooting come all over his stomach and thighs. It's like fireworks from his dick. 

The three wolves start licking him clean. They keep lapping at him until he’s almost screaming from oversensation. It’s so fucking perfect.

The wolves run off as soon as Stiles is up on his feet. He’s alone and still wet. The air is chilly against the spit painted liberally on his flesh. He dresses and walks backs to the house. Only tonight instead of feeling like he’s walking toward his home, he feels like he’s walking away from something... 

He never sleeps that night, replaying the events over and over until the sun comes.

 

The Hale siblings keep to themselves. They excel at staying in their exclusive bubble of eyebrows spiked with annoyance. Stiles is unloading the contents of his locker when he catches a glimpse of the three of them staring back at him through the reflection of his locker mirror. Stiles Jr. is taking an interest in the proceedings and Stiles knows, JUST KNOWS, why. 

With all the strength he can muster, he turns and walks the invisible line linking Derek, Laura and Cora Hale’s eyes to his own. He summons every ounce of courage when he stops in front of the trifecta of sexy and says, “So. Same time, same place tonight?”

And they answer with a flash of _red, yellow, blue._

* * *

36.

Stiles doesn’t know how he got here – pressed up against a tree in Beacon Hills Preserve, the bark scratching his skin as he presses his forehead against the wood and the moon shining down upon him. But then he feels Isaac’s claws extend, pricking against his hips, and his mind blanks as he tilts his hips and lets out a low moan.

“Isaac – Isaac, fuck…”

He’s met with a growl, Isaac’s nose nuzzling into the place where his neck and shoulder meet. His hips snap forward again, burying his cock deeper inside Stiles’ hole, and Stiles shakes.

“That’s so good,” he pants, turning his head to try and catch Isaac’s lips into a sloppy kiss. He has to be careful of his fangs, but the danger there, the little pricks he can feel against his lips, make his head spin.

“You like that?” Isaac whispers, a low rumble in his voice. It’s always deeper when he’s shifted, and Stiles feels his cock throb.

“God yes,” Stiles groans. “Love how you fuck me, god…”

“It’s okay. You can call me Isaac.” He can practically hear the smirk in Isaac’s voice, and Stiles makes a mental note to smack him later.

“Prick.”

“You love it.”

And then Isaac’s hips pick up the pace, fucking into him hard and fast, and Stiles is nodding breathlessly.

“I love it, I love it, fuck…”

They’ve done this enough now that Stiles knows how it all goes. He knows what it means when Isaac’s hips jerk, how close he is when he feels Isaac’s claws scrabble against the tree, tearing at the bark. He can hear the way his chest heaves, and Stiles pushes back with his hips, urging him on.

“More, c’mon,” he groans. One hand slides back to grip Isaac’s hip, trying to force him in deeper. “Come on, I’m so close… knot me, Isaac, oh god…”

Isaac swears, a low rumble right up against Stiles’ ear as his hips snap faster.

“Knot me, I need it… please! Please, Isaac, give it to me!”

“You need it?” Isaac breathes, and Stiles nods his head furiously.

“Need it, need you, need you so bad…”

And that’s when he feels it. He can feel the knot start to swell, his hole burning a little as it stretches. He moans again, fingers digging into the tree as he tries to take it all. Tries to fit as much of the thick knot inside him as he can, because he loves it. It’s Isaac’s, and it’s driving him crazy. Stiles’ cock is leaking, precome dripping onto the dirt at their feet, and he’s so close. He’s so damn close.

But he can’t come yet. Not until they’re locked together.

“Isaac, Isaac, Isaac…” Stiles moans. Isaac’s fingers rest at his throat and turn his head for a hot, sloppy kiss, shoving his hips in one more time and locking them together as he starts to come.

“Fuck,” Isaac mumbles against Stiles’ lips, and Stiles shudders. He can feel it, Isaac’s come filling him up, and all he needs are three pumps to his cock before he’s coming, too.

“Isaac,” he pants, his head spinning. “Isaac, oh my god…”

Isaac’s kisses slow a little. They become more gentle, easier, a little more tender each time.

“I’ve got you,” Isaac murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And, as always, Stiles knows that he does.

* * *

37.

When Chris climbed into bed, Derek’s eyes flew open.

“Sleep,” Chris muttered. It wasn’t unusual for Derek to wake up when he joined him, though Chris was trained to be quiet enough to escape an inattentive werewolf’s senses. Like the hunter, Derek had lived a life that had made him reasonably paranoid.

When he settled in, he expected Derek’s hand on his arm or some such gesture, half sweet and half possessive, before the other returned to sleep.

Instead, Derek laid very still and then suddenly rolled over, hands coming down hard to either side of Chris’ head. At the rim of his dark brown eyes, Chris could see sparks of electric blue. He just barely stopped his reflex to reach for a knife.

“The hell you’re doing?”

“You wore Isaac’s sweater,” Derek said, voice thick with sleep and something more primal.

Chris stared at him, then glanced back to his clothes which were draped over the back of a chair. It had felt a bit large, that was true.

“Must’ve gotten mixed up in the laundry,” he said, disinterested, too ready to close his eyes. “So?”

Isaac did basically live with him and his daughter by this point, after all. Chris really would have liked to be more grumpy about the second-werewolf-boyfriend matter, but recent events made it hard to play the indignant father. Firstly, he actually liked Isaac and thought the kid could use an adult who at least made sure he had a roof over his head at night. Secondly, he’d been dating a werewolf himself for a couple of months which gave Allison a rather obvious argument to turn against him.

Derek leaned his face against the crook of his neck.

“You smell like him,” he growled.

Chris rolled his eyes as his weary mind clicked and he realised what Derek’s problem was. _Werewolves_.

“He’s sixteen and my daughter’s boyfriend. This is ridiculous,” Chris said.

“I know you’re not cheating on me,” Derek said, without backing off.

There was nothing logical about this, though, and Chris knew he could have argued ‘til doomsday and it wouldn’t have mattered. Already Derek was pressing his whole body against him and as exhausted and annoyed as Chris was, he couldn’t help but notice the friction of a muscular thigh between his and Derek’s tongue lapping at his throat like he planned to coat him in a whole new scent.

Because Chris was tired and Derek was on a mission, they didn’t waste time. It was rough kisses with Derek’s too-sharp teeth and where Chris was all grasping and scratching with blunt, broken nails, the werewolf’s hands touched more tender than usual so they wouldn’t cut. Chris noted the claws, tensing up with nerves, instincts that were hard to suppress, but shuddering with pleasure as Derek bit down a howling moan when Chris took his cock in hand and gave him quick, firm strokes.

It didn’t surprise Chris when Derek suddenly grabbed him the hips and unceremoniously dropped him on his stomach. He kicked at Derek’s shin in return, knowing he couldn’t truly hurt him. When Derek was in this kind of mood, what they did could only be described as rutting, fast-paced, with an edge of pain.

 

Chris came with his hips pushed into a pillow that he’d piled up under his waist so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable while they waited for the knot to swell down. Derek wouldn’t stop playing with his cock until Chris batted his hands away because he was beginning to be so sensitive it hurt. Derek mouthed against the back of his neck when he pushed himself over the edge. The hunter turned, twisting his neck to kiss him and Derek, as always, obliged, and so close after his orgasm there was something tender in his eyes that surprised Chris, frightened him more than the claws, made him a little happy.

They separated. Chris wiped the mess between his legs away with a tissue. Derek was still watching him, face human now, a little less alert.

“I’m waiting for the day you actually piss on me to mark your territory,” Chris drawled sarcastically.

“I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing,” Derek said with feigned interest.

Chris threw the blanket at his head before he fell back against the mattress. Derek’s hand rested on his wrist and he grasped it, pulled it down so their fingers were interlaced. There was a slight smile on Chris’ face as he turned off the light.

* * *

38.

The life affirming, fairy tale sex was cute, the first time. Lydia certainly wasn't going to complain when Jackson wanted to spend an hour tenderly eating her out, anyway; it was what came afterward that was the problem. Lydia liked fucking, being used, sucking _just for his benefit_. Spending fifteen minutes trying not to fall asleep while he thrust slowly and gazed into her eyes was not Lydia's idea of a fun Saturday night. Still, she had saved his life with the power of true love the night before, so she'd been prepared to let it go until he tried a repeat performance for round two.

"You know what?" she said, conversationally. He pulled back from between her legs and made a quizzical noise. "This isn't working. Stop."

"You don't want me to go down on you?" He asked. His confusion would've been cute if her cunt weren't wide and wet with want. Lydia fisted her hand in the pillow and mentally counted to ten.

"No," she snapped as soon as she was done. "Yes, of course I do. But if I wanted this romantic crap, I'd date Stilinski."

The criticism sparked something in Jackson like it always did: the urge to prove himself burned in his eyes. Lydia had to hide a smirk; one more twist of the knife should do it.

"Did turning into a werewolf neuter you?"

Jackson snarled, his eyes flashing blue as he dove back between her legs. This time his tongue was rough, hitting her clit with every stroke until Lydia was squirming and trying to move up the bed to avoid the overstimulation. Jackson hooked his strong around her thighs and held her there until all she could do was scream with the force of her orgasm.

Before she could catch her breath Jackson was stealing the scream from her mouth. His fangs had sprouted without her noticing and now they shredded her lips until she tasted blood.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against her mouth. He was stroking her breasts, claws out, in a parody of his earlier tenderness. She jutted her chest forward into the touch and spread her legs wider.

"Yes, fuck, just get on with it already," she wailed. He didn't need a second invitation. When he thrust into her, up to his balls, Lydia felt her eyes cross. Was he bigger, like this? It felt like it. Despite her desperate arousal it still felt like too much to take.

It wasn't enough for Jackson. He grabbed her by the legs and bent her nearly in half to flip her into her stomach where he could thrust deeper and hold her underneath him with his forearm wrapped around her throat. His breath in her ear was hot.

"Fuck yourself on me," he whispered. Lydia struggled for a breath - between his arm and his weight she felt all the air had left her lungs - and pushed herself back. Each little movement of her hips was a struggle against Jackson's body, but they rubbed her over sensitive clit against her silk sheets until another orgasm built in the pit of her stomach. As if he could sense it, Jackson yanked her up by her neck and her hair until she was seated on top of him.

"You're mine. _I > make you come, when I want to."_

"Y-yes, Jackson!" But it was too late. The orgasm was already past the breaking point and Lydia teetered on the edge until it burst white-hot across her entire body.

By the time she could even open her eyes again, Jackson was pulling off the messy condom. He'd shifted back; when he met her gaze his eyes were an ordinary blue again.

"Was that what you wanted?" He asked with a cocky smirk. As usual with Jackson, there was a thick layer of insecurity under the surface.

"Mm," she said around a yawn. "Good dog."

* * *

39.

Stiles always fascinate how werewolf works in sexual terms, he imagined of course it had to be wild, rough on the edge and just hot all around but he never thought how mind blowing it is.

The way Derek look at him as a bait it doesn’t make his skin crawl it make him more excited and just horny as hell as Derek approach him slowly sniff him like he’s a delicious food that just wait to be eaten the way he drag his hands all over him just intoxicating he just want to feel his touch, Stiles can feel Derek stubble against his thigh as Derek put his finger on Stiles mouth just to be suck like a good slut he is.

As Derek prepared him this part is what he excited most other than the marking on his neck to show Stiles is his and no others but also the knotting, the thought of it make him high of want of how the knot just expand on his tight hole with Derek whisper soothing words, “Fuck baby, you take my knot so good like you made for this even you can’t breed you just so perfect baby take all of me, yeah” as Derek slowly thrust on him and Stiles can feel how full he is with Derek knot it just overwhelmed but at the same time just indescribable.

At that point, Stiles just babbling with words of desperation to release how much a sarcastic shit he is, in bed he loves having Derek taking control once awhile and just fuck him good and shows him who’s the boss.

Stiles can already feel the mark on his neck, the swollen on his lips and the burns all over his body and he loves everything about it and when Derek knot subside Derek would pull always slowly looking at his cum leaking out his hole Stiles know the werewolf Derek is satisfied and he definitely don’t mind at all when Derek would lick around his hole, it shouldn’t make him more horny but he still a teenager with quick metabolism and to have a werewolf boyfriend is always a plus.

Even after the exhausting knotting sex, Derek always paid attention to the details of Stiles body just fascinate by the mole constellation on his body, he would lick and nip at Stiles skin causing Stiles to shiver and sigh in content it’s like Stiles overdose with Derek touch and he just want it more and never want Derek to stop ever, even Derek stops awhile he would let out a whine of loss of the contact and he know Derek would be smug about it how addicted Stiles is to Derek touch, Derek teeth on his, he could even go with a little of blood , at first Derek is not sure but Stiles assured him it just a tiny pinch and it does not effect him and he love everything about it feeling Derek sucking on his red skin because of how rough Derek being and it excite him so much just tangled up on Derek arms in the dark sometimes Derek would flash his eyes and that make it all real on how much he have a werewolf kink but most important he really loves Derek despite everything.

* * *

40.

Stiles stretches out beneath him, moaning rich and low. His skin is salty sweet against Scott’s tongue, heated against his lips. Scott smiles as he presses another open mouthed kiss against the nubs of his spine. 

“Stop being so smug,” Stiles croaks out, voice more wrecked than anything else. Slow and sated too. Scott can’t help but feel just a little proud. Okay, very proud. Pride is a state of being for him now and he really doesn’t think it’s a vice.

“What makes you think I’m smug?” Scott whispers back, sounding just as husky. 

“I know you.”

He grins again and drags his teeth against Stiles’ shoulder blade. He loves the contrast of all of his body’s angles with his smooth softness. They perfectly mirror Stiles as a person, who so often is kind but not nice, joking but not funny, honest but not truthful. 

Scott takes a deep breath and attempts to ease away, but he’s still stuck fast. His knot catches at Stiles’ rim and the sensation is electric, his nerves singing with it. He imagines what it looks like, the tender pink push of muscle and skin. He shudders as he traces their connection with his fingertips, presses another series of kisses against Stiles’ vertebrae. Stiles clutches at his arm, but doesn’t sound pained in his grumbling.

“Not yet,” he says. “Not even if you could. I want you in me.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” Scott asks, mostly because he wants to hear the negative. 

Discovering that Stiles was as into this as he is was the best thing to happen to him in years. He didn’t think he’d get to know happiness again, something uncomplicated and freeing. It seems weird that this physical attachment, a physiological inability to pull away, can feel so much like an escape. In these moments he’s got more choice than in anything else in his life and he chooses to hold Stiles fast and never let go.

“You know I’m not,” Stiles says back, and Scott can hear his smile. “Feels too good.”

Stiles wriggles his hips in time with the ‘good’, has Scott hissing at the tug of skin on skin. He thinks he could come again and it’s only been half the time they’re usually joined, it should be impossible. They haven’t tried before. He bucks forward tentatively, drags his hand down to pull Stiles’ leg wider. Stiles rocks into it, lets out a choked laugh and something that could be the word ‘yeah’. Scott wants to kiss his mouth, but the angles are all wrong. They’ll have time for that later, when they’re finally disentangled, Stiles dragging his hands into his hair and wrenching him down; licking, sucking, biting at his lips. Stiles always gets wild with it and Scott likes that it isn’t calculated, that it’s correlation not causation, Stiles just always kisses like he’s on the edge of desperation.

Scott thrusts as steady as he can, incremental but so, so overwhelming, the clutch and hold of Stiles like everything he’s always been afraid to want. He reaches around and finds that Stiles is already hard and wet. It makes him groan, the sound reverberating between them. He wants to bring Stiles off, wants to bring him everything good he’s been given. 

They move together in perfect syncopation, until Scott can feel that Stiles is close. He works him harsher, faster, because that’s what Stiles needs. He’s tight and perfect around him, and Scott’s hips snap harder, his grinding more frenzied. 

Stiles stiffens, then trembles, come spurting all over Scott’s knuckles, sliding down between his fingers. He makes a sound like a whimper and Scott doesn’t think he can hold on for much longer, wants to hear that sound again and again. He braces his arms against Stiles’ sides and gentles during his aftershocks, sucking in deep, chest-wracking breaths.

“C’mon, Scotty,” Stiles urges, voice even lower and rougher than before. 

And that’s all it takes. Scott bites down on a shout and comes, pumping into Stiles, half of him insensible, the other half concentrating on thoughts of _mark, claim, mine_. Stiles stretches out beneath him and Scott thinks he could stay like this forever.

* * *

41.

Stiles is zoning out in front of a documentary on gray wolves when a voice informs him, “We think of ourselves as wolves, but we’re actually more like humans when it comes to sex.”

Stiles only flails a little. He doesn’t even fling his cereal anywhere. He just calms down enough to ask, “I didn’t realize inviting you over meant you were going to barge in without even knocking.”

Derek levels an even look at him. Stiles clears his throat and starts again, “Not actually like wolves, huh?” Damn, he’d only turned it on for the noise.

“Werewolves, we’re not . . . _that_ much like wolves.”

“No dick bones than? You mate more often than every winter? No ‘copulatory tie?’”

“No Stiles, no knots or bones.” 

When Stiles pouts at him mockingly, Derek adds, dry, “But that does mean I can get hard before I stick my dick in things.”

Stiles almost chokes on his milk.

#

Stiles has been looking forward to days like today forever it seems. The passionate intercrural and frottage they’d been enjoying was great, but ever since Stiles felt comfortable enough to order his own sex toys, he’s been looking forward to all the anal he can get. His prostate is his friend.

Now that they’ve figured out what they like, both of them wanted to move into penetration. Stiles wants to stick things up his butt, and he wants Derek to be the one who puts those things there. Derek on the other hand . . . 

Derek is full of wonder and joy at their experimentation. In the bedroom, Stiles isn’t one for emotional games, just physicality and orgasms. He’s all about what feels good. This is a new approach to sex for Derek, and it is so good for him.

This is why Stiles is stepping out of the shower at 10 am intending to find out exactly what a werewolf cocksheath feels like on a werewolf. He can’t help but be excited because Derek’s enthusiasm is catchy. Stiles thinks it’s probably because it feels like a ‘safe’ choice for Derek, but whatever, he’s on board for Derek’s happiness.

Stiles had taken a lukewarm shower, trying not to worked up too soon. He can’t help but start to harden at seeing the toy wrapped around Derek’s cock and balls and Derek’s bashfulness at being ready so fast.

Stiles just grins widely and flings himself across the bed. He scrambles onto his knees and wiggles his ass. He says as saucily as he can, “Come on, Derek.”

He can hear Derek stifle a laugh. Stiles jumps a little when Derek’s big hands land on his ass cheeks, but settles down when Derek leans in close enough Stiles can feel his breath across his ass and upper thighs.

He melts into the bed at the first tentative lick and lets Derek lick out his ass. He can hear Derek get worked up behind him, panting with arousal. He can feel Derek stop to calm down a bit.

Stiles exhales, “Want to lube me up, big boy?”

Derek’s only answer is the snap of the tube opening.

Stiles is loose from playing with a plug last night, so he lubes up easily. It still takes freaking ages for Derek to line up and start gently rocking in. Derek easily sets a rhythm, but Stiles is looking forward to throwing him and his control through a loop.

The sheath is interesting, in a good way. It’s body warm and only slightly harder than Derek’s dick alone, and it’s a lot larger than most of Stiles’ toys. It makes the gentle thrusting almost hard to take, but Stiles just breathes out and takes it. Delicious.

When that steadiness gets monotonous, Stiles breaks out his new move. He backs up a bit and sits up. Stiles moves in for the kill, by stretching his arms up and snuggling in close.

Against the entire line of his collarbone, neck, upper arm and pit, Derek doesn’t stand a chance. Instead of climaxing, Derek snaps. He grips Stiles’ neck with one hand, forcing him down. Derek starts fully fucking into Stiles, and his panting has picked up into a low level growl.

Stiles can’t do anything but take it. He can’t get away from Derek, from the pounding, and he likes it. He is helplessly reamed into an orgasm. Derek stutters, peaks, and is done.

Derek collapses, half wolfed out on him, and cuddles. It’s a beautiful morning.

* * *

42.

"I hear you're headed to Beacon Hills."

Stiles narrows his eyes at the stranger and the grey wolf by his side. "What's it to you?"

The man's unshaven, wild-looking. His pale eyes bore into Stiles as he slaps a wad of cash on the table. "Five thousand to take us there, and mind your business along the way." 

\--

"Sunset's in thirty minutes. Stop at the next motel."

Derek's given Stiles five thousand reasons to not ask questions, so he takes the nearest exit and finds a place that'll ignore the wolf they're traveling with.

Later when Stiles knocks on Derek's door to ask if he wants dinner, a woman answers with her bathrobe gaping enough to make Stiles blush. Before he can apologize for interrupting, she drags him into the room.

"You must be Stiles," she says. "I'm Cora."

Derek's not around, but his clothes from today litter the bed. In the corner of the room is a huge midnight-black wolf. "That's a different wolf."

"Aren't you a fucking genius." Cora flops on the bed, kicking Derek's clothes to the floor. "Come on, we can charge a bunch of movies to Derek's account."

"Cool," Stiles says, not entirely sure why the wolf is scowling at him.

\--

The next morning, Stiles wakes snuggled into the grey wolf's fur instead of Cora's shoulder; Derek's sitting across from him and looking pissier than usual.

When he apologizes for stealing time with Derek's one-night-stand, Derek snaps, "Cora's my sister."

\--

Next night, they're in a new city, new motel, when Cora barges into Stiles' room, the surly black wolf following behind. 

If they're all clearly traveling together, Stiles doesn't understand why she and her wolf don't just join them in the Jeep. He doesn't ask.  
When Stiles wakes again with his face buried in grey fur and Derek laid out naked in the place the black wolf had been, Stiles figures it out.

\--

 

"Our uncle cursed us," Derek says while they barrel down a deserted highway in the middle of New Mexico. He glances at Cora, who's sleeping in the back with her muzzle tucked under her paws.

\--

They only get one hotel room after that. All pretense dissolved, Stiles watches Derek strip off his clothes as dusk falls, stares in amazement as man becomes wolf and wolf becomes girl.

They marathon movies with Cora curled into Stiles' chest and Derek nestled between them, his head resting on their joined hips.

\--

As the world turns bright and dawn chases away the night, Cora clutches Derek's fur, tears in her eyes, like she refuses to let go. Inevitably, Cora's delicate fingers turn to paws in the same moment that the fur she's clinging to becomes naked skin. Deep, bloody scratches slice into Derek's shoulders. 

The marks fade in an instant -- as though Derek isn't permitted to keep her claim any more than he's allowed to see her face with human eyes.

\--

"The curse can only be broken if Cora and I appear in front of Peter, both as humans," Derek says, his eyes trained on the road. "It's impossible."

Always together, forever apart. 

"I'm going to Beacon Hills to kill my uncle," Derek whispers.

"Won't killing him make the curse permanent?"

"It's already permanent, Stiles. It's _hope_ that's killing us."

Chest aching with the weight of their loneliness, Stiles lets the conversation drop.

\--  
Slamming the newspaper down beside Derek's coffee, Stiles says, "Do you think?"

Derek reads the headline, eyes wide and dazed, as the solution presents itself like it's fated.

"Thank you," Derek says, tugging Stiles forward until their mouths crash together.

Stiles has to crank up the AC in the Jeep as thoughts of the kiss haunt him all afternoon. 

\--

Stiles hands Cora the newspaper clipping once the sun sets.

"This will work," she says, voice raw with emotion and certainty. She throws her arms around Stiles and kisses him with even more urgency than her brother had.

Stiles knows he's not what either of them want most, but as Cora rides him hard and fast and the black wolf noses between his legs and tongues what he can reach, it's hard to care. 

When he comes, Cora rolls off him, spreads her legs and lets her brother lick her clean. 

\--

At the appointed time, the siblings stand in the shadow cast by the solar eclipse, hand in hand before Peter, breaking the curse. In unison, they tear into him, mauling until they wear his blood like clothes.

* * *

43.

"Raising it up another fifty," Stiles said, smiling as he tossed the chips into the middle of the table.

Scott set his cards down in front of him. "I'm out."

"Me, too," Derek groaned. "You better have something good, Stiles."

Peter stared at Stiles, watching his every move since he announced his raise. "Must be. The question is just how good." Without taking his eyes off his fellow player, Peter picked up a stack of chips. "I'll raise you another two hundred."

Stiles managed not to wince at the amount, though he knew he couldn't match it. "I've only got ten more left."

"Does that mean I take it?" Peter asked with a grin.

"No," Stiles answered quickly. "I-- How about if I win, I have to do you a favor. Anything you want."

Peter smiled. "Anything, Stiles? You must be very confident in that hand of yours."

"Indeed, I am." Stiles nodded.

"Are you sure?" Derek asked, leaning over to whisper into Stiles's ear. "This is Peter. You know what he's going to ask."

"It's a sure thing," Stiles assured Derek.

"I doubt that, but I'm not going to argue. Just be sure you're willing to accept the consequences if you lose."

Stiles turned to face him. He didn't bother whispering his response because he knew Peter could hear anyway. "I'm confident enough that if this hand somehow loses, I probably deserve to give it up."

Derek shrugged and looked like he wanted to issue a further objection but instead shook his head and settled back into his chair.

"Okay, then," Peter said. "I'll give you the benefit of calling and raising me another fifty for that. So I'll call."

Stiles smiled and flipped over his cards. "Straight flush, hearts, nine to king."

"Damn," Scott said with a grin, reaching across the table to give Stiles a high five.

"I know, right?" Stiles asked, his smile widening.

Peter looked down at the cards for a moment and then up at stiles, his grin faded. "Incredible hand, Stiles," he said with a light night. "But it doesn't beat this." He revealed his own hand. "Royal flush in spades."

Stiles was no longer smiling and he could feel Derek tense up next to him.

"Deal's a deal, Stiles," Peter said, standing up from the table. "You two will leave us alone for a bit?" He looked at Scott and Stiles and then nodded toward the kitchen.

"I don't know that we should," Derek objected, rising his feet.

"No, it's okay," Stiles said. "I'll be fine."

Scott stood and put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "We'll be in the next room. Ten minutes?"

"Oh, come on," Peter groaned. "You better give us at least twenty."

Derek laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's a bit too generous, but whatever." He turned and left the room with Scott in tow.

Stiles walked over and leaned against the back of the sofa. "Sure this is going to be worth the money you could get instead?"

"Every penny," Peter answered as he walked over and stood in front of him. He spun Stiles around and reached down to undo his belt and unzip his jeans. "I don't want to hurt you, so you'll tell me if I need to slow down or anything?"

"Oh, believe me, you'll know." Stiles slid his pants and boxers off his hips and let them fall to the floor. He heard Peter undo his own jeans and gasped when he felt warm flesh against his hole. Peter pressed in slowly, Stiles's ass willingly letting him in.

"Fuck," Stiles whispered, his back arching as Peter pushed further inside.

Peter stopped for a moment when he was all the way in. "You feel incredible, Sti--"

Stiles felt his entire body tense and his ass clenched around Peter's cock, which at the same time he was sure grew even bigger. "Holy fu-- What was that?"

Peter didn't answer but just started fucking him in small, rapid thrusts. A few minutes later, they both tensed again and groaned in unison as they came - Stiles against the back of the sofa and Peter into his ass.

"Fuck," Peter said after a moment. "I never knew you were an Omega, Stiles. It's be a long time since someone took my knot."

Stiles turned toward Peter, who was still in place behind him, and shot him a confused look. "I don't know what that means, but that was the best sex I've ever had."

* * *

44.

“Stiles,” Marcos began, looking down at the paperwork in front of him. “You understand what signing this will mean?” He pushed the pages over so that the omega sitting across from him could sign, flicking a glance at the worried father sitting beside the teen. 

Sheriff Stilinski let out a soft noise of distress. “You don’t have to do this, Stiles. You’re barely eighteen and if claimed, you’ll likely have a baby from this.” He took one of his son’s hands in his own. “You have so many other choices; so much we can do before you have to resort to this.” 

Stiles looked at his father and shook his head. “This _**is >** my choice, Dad. I need to do this and if I’m sent home in six months, I promise I’ll go off to college and take my suppressants until I’ve graduated. Just, I want to try.” _

The sheriff signed, nodded and let go. It was the last time he’d get to touch or see his son for the next six months. 

~~

Stiles writhed, sweating and aching with sexual hunger. He wanted, he needed and for the fifth month in a row it seemed he would be without an alpha. The scents and sounds of mating flooded his senses. It was torture to be surrounded by it, but the layout of the room made it easier for the Alpha’s to scent out which omega they wanted without having to move from room to room. When Marcos, the center’s mate specialist, cleared his throat near Stiles, Stiles moaned low and pulled futilely at the bonds that kept him in place over the foam wedge. He was laid out for an Alpha, body spread out and pinned in place, but Marcos meant only one thing...he’d lost out again. 

“Alpha Hale,” Marcos continued. “Stiles is our only unclaimed omega this month. This is his fifth heat cycle with us. Or, we can offer a selection of betas.” 

The low grunt behind Stiles left him with his cheeks flushing bright red and a desperate tear leaking down his face. He rubbed his cheek against the foam in embarrassment. 

“You may go, Marcos,” Alpha Hale said with a deep, raspy voice laced with annoyance. “I am familiar with the center and its services.” Stiles could feel the warmth of the Alpha’s body near him. He arched, body responding to the heady flood of pheromones. When Alpha Hale touched his back, Stiles sobbed aloud. Touch was forbidden unless mating was planned. 

Stiles tried to push back into the touch, to show how welcome it was, but Alpha Hale merely stroked lightly over his skin. A second hand joined the first and they slowly soothed the more immediate cravings. “Please,” Stiles moaned, eliciting a groan from the Alpha. 

“How old are you?” Alpha Hale asked. “Are you prepared for what will come if this is successful.” 

“Yes,” Stiles moaned. “Yes, I’m eighteen. I know what I want.” He arched his back, presenting himself. 

Alpha Hale appeared to trust Stiles’ word when Stiles could hear the man’s robe drop to the ground. Alpha Hale began marking Stiles with his scent, rubbing his cheek from Stiles’ lower back to his head before strong, hard hands grasped his hips and then Stiles was steadily and firmly filled by the Alpha’s hard cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles slurred out, his entire body going limp. None of his beta experiences prepared him for an Alpha. He clenched around Hale, hands fisting next to his face when Hale thrust hard and fast inside him. Stiles’ body welcomed every inch of the Alpha, lubricating Hale’s way with each thrust until he slammed in hard one final time. The Alpha’s knot swelled, Stiles’ body opening and accommodating him without a problem even if Stiles suddenly felt breathless and fuller than he’d imagined. 

Stiles groaned again, his orgasm slamming through him, cock spurting without a touch when he felt his body flood with Hale’s come. For the first time, Stiles could actually see that this might be his new reality. This man could become his mate, his Alpha and Stiles just might bear his children. Stiles’s shuddered again and turned his face to rub their cheeks together. “I hope you just gave me a baby, Alpha,” he whispered, feeling the man above him shudder and drop closer to Stiles’ back. 

“So do I,” Alpha Hale breathed out. “I may never let you out of my bed again.” 

* * *

45.

He's expecting Deaton, he's _used_ to Deaton. It's still awkward, but at least he's known Deaton since he lost his milk teeth.

Yet, in walks another doctor instead. 

It's the heat. It leaves him shivering one minute, dripping sweat another. It makes his claws ache, his fangs heavy and sensitive in his mouth.

It makes this new doctor smell _so good_ when he pushes into the exam room, whistling to himself. 

"Hale?" the guy asks, looking up, eyes warm and friendly. 

Derek stares at him, grinds out "Where's Doctor Deaton?"

"Emergency call. I'm Dr. Stilinski," the guy says, already briskly rolling up his sleeves, going to wash his hands. 

"Oh," Derek says weakly. 

"Can you turn over, please? This will only take a minute," Dr. Stilinski says, snapping on gloves. 

Derek turns onto his elbows and knees on the table, buries his face in his arm. _This will only take a minute_ isn't reassuring to a Were in heat. 

Voice gentle, Dr. Stilinski says "I'm going to raise your gown. Tell me if you get cold."

"Yeah," Derek mumbles, face hot as the young doctor exposes his ass.

"Can you...spread your--" Dr. Stilinski asks tentatively. Derek bites his lip, parts his hairy thighs.

"There you go," Dr. Stilinski murmurs. "I heated the gel earlier--" but Derek still jerks as two, gloved fingertips stroke right at his hole.

"Here it comes. Tell me if I miss? I've only done a few of these," Dr. Stilinski says and then Derek's whole body is _lost_ in it, in _hot, tight_ as Dr. Stilinski spreads his heat-wanton hole. 

 

"You ok? Your skin's so hot, you could be steaming," Dr. Stilinski says. 

Derek whines on the table, these pitchy little whines, keening like a dog. He always does, but it's worse with Dr. Stilinski. Derek's wolf is _whorish_ for him, hips locking high in lordosis, trembling there while he noises into his arm helplessly. Dr. Stilinski goes quiet while he works his fingers in and out, probing carefully, crooking and touching deep like he's looking for it. He's not as skilled as Deaton, so he ends up fingering Derek for much longer, searching. It's such a fucking tease, Derek's whines grow more desperate, his hips twitching like he wants to help guide him.

Finally, he hisses " _please, doctor_ ," ashamed of his impatience. Dr. Stilinski sighs gustily and there it is, sweet and tender inside, his prostate all plump with mating hormones. 

Derek makes a sound like agony as Dr. Stilinski murmurs "there it is. There you are."

And then he goes right to soothing it. 

Where Deaton usually _hammers_ at it, with the same pressure and speed, Dr. Stilinski _makes love_ to it. Small, deep nuzzles like he wants to get to know it. Then sweet, slow rubs that make Derek's hips start circling, moving to meet him. It's filthy-hot and thorough, the kind of pleasure you get from mating, not from manual stim. 

"I can't, you have to stop--" Dr. Stilinski says and then Derek's swiveling hip is being stilled by a firm hand. Derek's eyes roll back in his head because _yessss_ , hold him. _Own_ him. 

He's pinned, petted warmly inside until he's crooning through his fangs, his cock starting to quiver, fatten.

"That's it, you're almost there," Dr. Stilinski soothes him through it, voice so kind.

"Oh god, I'm. I'm going to knot--" Derek whines. His dick _aches_ in that flush right before-- 

"Jesus, look at you. You'll be huge--" Dr. Stilinski blurts out. 

It makes Derek's hips wrench up, makes them lift _sharply_ into lordosis again, nipping the fingers inside him, _catching_ them.

"Oh my god," the doctor whispers. 

Derek's knot _surges_ so suddenly his eyesight greys over. 

"Ohhhh my _god_ ," Dr. Stilinski gasps and uses his cool, gloved hand to console Derek's knot as it pulses thicker and _thicker_ , jerking heavily between his legs. 

Derek snarls, snicks his fangs into the table pad instinctively, mating it. 

For a long time, Derek just trembles there, fangs locked while pacifying fingers rub-out his prostate and weigh his knot experimentally, appreciating his body.

"Your knot is so warm--" the doctor marvels and Derek screws up his face and comes.

* * *

46.

He feels it under his skin, like a crawling ache that he can’t shake. Like he’s spent too much time not moving, and now his muscles have to stand up and stretch and run. He feels it roiling underneath the surface, driving him to distraction, making his palms sweat and itch. The door is loud when he slams it shut, the sound echoing into a roar. He turns the lock, nearly breaks it off in his hand, and tears his jacket off. It falls somewhere with a soft thump, but he’s too busy scrambling to remove the rest of his clothes to notice.

His t-shirt is well worn and soft from innumerable washes, but the material stings as it slides across his skin. He growls, fangs cutting into his lip, and tosses it away, then pops the button of his jeans and groans. The denim scrapes against his skin, leaving goosebumps across his body. He’s not wearing any underwear, and his cock is already hardening, lifting from his thigh. His claws prick against his skin, and he has to fight back the shift. His nails are human when he takes himself into his fist. The skin of his palm is rough, calloused. It burns, too dry and too tight, but it feels good, and he arches into it. There’s precome gathering at the head, and he spreads it around with his thumb. He lets a claw out, traces it around the flared head, feels it into his bones. It aches just right, just how he needs it.

The tension is rising, making his skin ripple. His fangs are out, his face is shifted, and as he slowly jacks himself off, he feels the base of his dick swelling. His hand won’t go all the way down anymore, the tight clench of his fingers suddenly, achingly tighter. He groans into it, pressing against his hand, and he suddenly can’t control the thrust of his hips. He imagines that he’s pressing into the warmth of someone else, rather than his own hand. Imagines that he’s claiming his mate, marking them with teeth and tongue. He groans, hips thrusting. There’s a muscled back, dark hair, soft skin, spread out before his mental eye in a wanton display. Sweat pools on his neck, rolling down his back and settling in his spine. His knot pushes against his hand, breaches the tightness of his fingers, and he’s suddenly, painfully coming. There are thick white stripes of come covering his hand and the floor, but he doesn’t care. He squeezes his knot, tightens his grip to a point that’s too much, too tight, but it leaves him with a bone-deep sense of completion. It nearly puts him on his knees, but he locks his legs, locks his hand, lets it roll over him in waves. As he comes in sharp pulses, he squeezes. There’s a rhythm to it, one learned from years of practice and self-discovery. He sighs, the ache easing, soothed at least temporarily. He stands there in the center of his apartment, hand tight around his cock, and breathes, forgetting for just a moment why he has to do this at all.

He washes his hands, still naked, then gathers the discarded clothes from the floor. He tosses them in the hamper in his bedroom. He tries not to, but he finds himself opening his dresser drawer, sliding out a well-worn slip of photo paper. There are four pictures on it, faded from the years. Allison’s grin is bright and full of life, and he feels the corner of his mouth lift unconsciously. His heart aches, feels like it’s spent too little time moving, and now it has to beat and move and run.

He wonders if it ever will.

* * *

47.

When You Go Out in the Woods Today...

The woods around the old Hale house were quiet as Stiles made his way to the clearing Derek and Scott had taken to using as a training space for full wolf transformations. As a True Alpha, Scott had the power. He should be able to accomplish it. Derek and Deaton both believed it was possible...months ago.

It had been pretty slow going. Scott just couldn’t seem to _get it_ , and it was frustrating for them both. It disheartened Stiles, too, to see them so down about it all. 

The disappointment had become such a common occurrence that Stiles fully expected to find them as he always did, Derek comforting Scott and insisting that he would get it next time. What he did _not_ expect to find was Derek in his beta form, on his hands and knees in the middle of the clearing, moaning, and mounted by a large, dark brown wolf. 

Surprised, it took him a minute to realize what he was seeing. As Derek moaned Scott’s name, all the blood in Stiles’ body rushed to his dick; and suddenly he was harder than he’d been in his _life_. He’d fantasized about this: fucking or being fucked by one or both of them in their wolf forms. It’s not something he talked about often, normally late at night, after some heavy drinking. 

Stiles palmed himself through his jeans as he stepped into the clearing. A strangled whimper worked its way up his throat, catching the wolves’ attention. Their heads snapped around, glowing eyes freezing him in his tracks. Scott’s eyes glowed bright red and he panted happily as his hips slowed their rutting.

Derek whined as Scott climbed off of him, scenting the air as he stalked the short distance to Stiles. He yipped, bowing over his front legs and pawing the ground before sitting in front of Stiles, his tongue hanging out in a wolfy grin. 

“You did it,” Stiles said with a smile, reaching out to scratch Scott behind his ears. Scott leaned into the touch, continuing forward until his nose rested right up against Stiles’ erection. Scott inhaled deeply and rubbed up and down his hard length, making Stiles gasp and whine, rocking his hips into the sensation.

“Stiles,” Derek moaned from behind them. “Stiles, Scott. Need -- Need you now.”

Looking up from where Scott was nuzzling him through his pants, Stiles had to step away and grasp himself firmly to keep from coming at the sight of Derek, on his back on the forest floor with his dick in his hand and two fingers up his ass. 

Stiles looked down at Scott, grabbing him by the scruff and turning him towards Derek. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “Yeah. That! Scotty -- Yes, that, please!”

Scott stalked his way back to Derek, his gait predatory. Standing over his, Scott ran his tongue up the length of Derek’s dick before bending down to lick and nose at his hole. Stiles stripped as he walked over, kneeling down next to Derek and catching his lips in a wet, filthy kiss. Scott backed up so Stiles could straddle Derek’s hips, rubbing their dicks together as he kissed and licked his way down Derek’s neck. 

“In,” Derek gasped. “Need you in -- please!”

Stiles was happy to oblige, lining himself up and sliding deep in one long, easy glide. All he could think as he settled into Derek’s inviting heat was _Thank God for travel lube packets._ They all carried at least one, and he couldn’t be more grateful for that habit.

Stiles snapped his hips hard against Derek’s ass, opening his thighs up and out in an attempt to get closer, deeper. He licked and nipped his way across Derek’s collarbones, then arched his back with a cry at the warm, wet feel of Scott’s tongue against his hole. 

“Do it,” he gasped, draping himself over Derek. “Scott. Mount me. Do it!”

The sound that came out of him as the smooth, pointed tip of Scott’s penis slid into him was indescribable. They paused for a few seconds, and then they were off, creating a punishing rhythm between them as Derek jacked himself off beneath them. The clearing rang with the sounds of slapping flesh, growls and groans, and punched out breaths as they chased their orgasms, and when they came, it rang with the howls of satisfied wolves and the cries of a deeply sated human.

* * *

48.

The moonlight seeping through the narrow windows cast the basement into shadow. It took Stiles a second to find Derek, crouched in the corner of an iron cage, wolfed out. He was naked, Stiles realized. And hard. So hard. Stiles swallowed, licked his lips, tried hard to look anywhere but at the angry, red curve of Derek's cock.

"Whoah!" said Stiles. "Um, hello to you, too." He swallowed, darting a quick glance back to the cage. Only the cage. Not the naked werewolf inside it. Nervously, Stiles stepped closer. Derek's eyes tracked his every movement, predatory.

Even a beta could rip through iron like butter, but Derek was making no move to free himself. He crouched low in the corner of the cage, pre-come leaking steadily onto his abs. Blushing hot, Stiles tore his gaze to the floor. That's how he noticed the thin line of mountain ash surrounding the perimeter of the cage.

Stiles's common sense was screaming at him to run, get Scott, let him deal with this. But Stiles had never been on particularly good terms with his common sense.

"Okay," he said. "I'll let you out, and you're going to remember that you don't actually hate me. Sound like a plan?"

"Don't," Derek grated, sounding like he hadn't spoken in weeks. He swallowed, tried again, wolfed-out face looking so _sincere_. "Don't hate you."

"Whatever Kate gave you, it must be the good stuff," Stiles said, and scuffed his toe through the ash.

The sound of bending metal echoed through the basement. Then Derek was shoving his face into Stiles's neck, the stubble scraping the sensitive skin. He inhaled, lips brushing over the pulse point, soft and surprisingly gentle. Stiles's dick gave an interested twitch in his pants.

"Derek?" Stiles ventured, touching his naked shoulder. He was trying so, so hard to ignore the hard dick bumping up against his denim-clad hip.

Derek shuddered against him, nosing into the skin behind Stiles's ear. "Stiles," he groaned. His hands were on Stiles's waist, rough and insistent. A second later, Stiles's knees hit the floor, hard. Clawed fingers caught in his jeans, shredding the denim over his ass and the backs of his thighs.

"Derek!" Stiles yelped. "What are you--?"

Strong hands gripped Stiles's ass cheeks, spreading them apart. Stiles flinched, bracing himself. He squeaked when Derek's hot breath gusted over his hole, followed by the fever-hot slide of a tongue.

Stiles leaned his forehead against the cool, concrete floor, panting. Derek was going to town on his ass like it was a fucking delicacy, making rough, hungry little noises as he worked his tongue deeper and deeper into inside, gripping Stiles's hips so he couldn't squirm away. Every flick of tongue and drag of stubble over sensitive skin went straight to Stiles's dick. He gasped and panted, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was here, ass open and dripping. Despite himself, he found himself bucking back into Derek's mouth, spreading his legs even wider.

Dimly, through his own startled whimpers and Derek's throaty grunts, Stiles heard the familiar slap of flesh on flesh behind him. He strained his neck to glance over his shoulder, saw Derek's clawed hand working over his own cock.

"Holy shit!" Stiles gasped, and fumbled for the fly of his jeans, still, ridiculously, intact, for all that Derek had his ass laid out like a five-course meal. He'd barely gotten his hand around his cock before he was coming, hard, shuddering and groaning between Derek's tongue and his own, impatient fist.

Derek made a startled sound against his ass, then flipped Stiles over, staring down at his spent, come-slicked dick with a hungry gaze. His hand sped up, stripping his cock with brutal efficiency until the long ropes of his own come were mingling with Stiles's. Derek dragged his face through the mess, licking his way up Stiles's torso. He finally settled, mouth open on Stiles's collarbone, not biting, just resting his fangs against Stiles's skin.

"What the fuck was that?" Stiles gasped, reaching blindly to pet at Derek's face. He combed his fingers through the ridiculous sideburns. Derek turned, nuzzling into the touch, then froze.

He tapped the tip of his claw against each of Stiles's fingers in turn. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"You're real," Derek choked. Horror and self-loathing filled his eyes. He stumbled away from Stiles, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

Stiles stared at his own hand in bemusement, then shrugged, reaching for Derek's shoulder. "I'm not," he said.

* * *

49.

Kira quietly screams when she comes, and Scott thinks he’s in love with the sound of it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Kira gasps as she shakes on top of him, hips spasming as her orgasm continues to take her. Scott's mouth is open and he can barely understand a word she says, lost in the feeling of Kira's wet cunt gripping his cock tighter with each pulse, and its a miracle he even responds.

"S-sorry?" He groans, feet planting in the bed as he thrusts his hips up and grinds hard. Kira is _so tight_. Its edging on painful, but it feels _so good_. Scott briefly wonders (very, _very_ briefly; any guy wouldn't be able to think with Kira's pussy around them) if Kira is one of those girls able to come for minutes at a time.

"Oh fuck, _oh Scott your claws_ ," she whines instead of explaining, her short nails scratching down his chest, and Scott smells her arousal, her desperate want as Scott's claws unknowingly pinprick her hip and thigh. He drags them in hazy fascination, watching the red welts rise, and Kira practically sobs above him, pumping his cock in short thrusts.

Kira is still so tight. Without warning, the werewolf rolls them, still in her. She arches against him as he fucks her fast, shallow.

"Jesus Christ Kira, what are you sorry about?" Scott asks breathlessly.

"I- my--" she stammers quietly. “I should have said, but, _oh ohh_ , I didn’t-- I didn’t _think_ \--”

“Kira,” he pants in between thrusts, “one of us…needs to speak…clearly, and I can’t even _think_ right now. _Cogeme_ , how are you so tight?”

Kira whimpers. “I knot, Scott.”

Scott pauses for a short moment, blinking down at her as her statement clears his haze.

“Knot,” he repeats, deadpanned. Kira is red with arousal and mortification, and Scott ducks his head between her perky breasts, laughing quietly. The scent of her embarrassment rises and Scott thinks, _no, we can’t have that._ He resumes fucking her, more of a tight, deep grind, taking her slowly now. Almost immediately pleasure overrides, her pulse rabbiting.

“I knew we forgot a conversation,” he teases her. Kira blinks at him, confusion on her face. “Surprise, _knotting_ \--”

“ _Sorry_ \--”

“When I come in you, I’m going to knot,” Scott says without preamble, smirking at her wide eyes, “and I’m going to fuck you with my knot.”

Kira shivers, mouth agape, as she humps against him, rubbing her clit at each downwards circle. “ _Scott_ , yes _please_ …!”

“Do you knot each time you come?” he asks, voice rasping with arousal, and Kira writhes under him, nodding frantically. She’s getting close again, Scott smells, and he props himself on an arm. He bends and lalves at a hard nipple, his claws drawing circles around the other; it puckers, goosebumps appearing over Kira’s skin. She sighs, her hand winding in his hair.

He surprises her by three, quick-hard thrusts, growling, “I want to feel you knot around me again, such a sweet vixen.”

Kira cries out, and her slick, hot cunt swells tighter around his cock, and the suddenness of her orgasm leaves Scott tiptoed at the edge. He breathes shakily, whining in the back of his throat when the kitsune scratches down his back. Sharp clicks of static crackle where she touches and Scott shudders, thinks they will need to talk more than just their ability to knot.

“Your knot,” she whimpers. “Please, _please_ I want your knot, come in me, fill me up, fuck me, _irete kudasai_.”

Scott fucks into her twice, until he begins to knot and it catches against the swollen walls of Kira’s cunt, growling as he comes. He’s gripping her hips tight against his, stuttering and his cock pulsing in his release. Kira arches, canting toward him to bring him deeper.

“Fuck,” she breathes, twisting her hips again and again, making Scott grip her tighter, her walls clenching around his knot so sweet, and she giggles. “That feels good,” she says as he’s still coming in her.

It takes Scott a couple minutes before he’s able to think, and he has to clear his throat. “How did you find out?”

“Fucking myself on my fingers or one of my toys. No matter the size I came on, it would try to keep it in. Was pretty sure I was screwed for my first boyfriend.”

“Well, now its literal,” Scott grins, eyes flashing red. “God. That was amazing.” He leans forward, scenting her pleased aroma. Its sweet and happy.

* * *

50.

Isaac doesn’t know how to explain this desire which rears its head every few months. Actually, desire is the wrong word. He needs to be held down and fucked by his pack mates after a couple of weeks.

Isaac doesn’t know how to explain it but he knows it’s not anything to do with his werewolf side. After a long, awkward talk with Derek and Boyd, Isaac knows it’s not any omega instinct or anything like heat. So it has to be all him right? And not the wolf in him?

But that doesn’t explain the pure feeling of satisfaction which rolls through him when he’s being pushed down on all fours, obediently following the instructions being given to him. His wolf preens and writhes every time when he’s praised, loving being the center of everyone’s attention.

Right now, Isaac feels the wolf whining inside of him. He lets the noise come out, low but so needy. Boyd doesn’t stop fucking him but he does soften his grip pinning Isaac’s wrists to the bed. It’s Scott and Allison who move in, shushing and petting his face and chest in equal parts before trying to kiss him silent. 

Isaac whines harder because it hurts. Boyd is always relentless when he fucks Isaac. He always knows just how Isaac wants it. Which is why Isaac likes him to follow Scott. Scott is a different kind of relentless, determined to kill Isaac through gentle but deep orgasms. He helps build this urge up in Isaac, the desire to be fucked until he hurts (something Boyd is so very good at).

Allison runs a hand through his sweaty hair, her own long hair tumbling over a bare shoulder. “Do you want more Isaac?” She asks gently, cool fingertips stroking over his flushed cheeks. 

He inhales a shuddering breath, peering up through wet lashes before moaning, “Yes.” 

He always wants more. He wants more than the scent of his pack on him. The most he can do is to beg to have every drop of cum shoved back into him by loving fingers before sobbing happily when someone works a plug into his sore hole, wishing desperately that knotting was a thing. Isaac wishes and tries so hard to keep the bruises and claw marks on him but they always fade away. And Derek’s always careful not to claw him. Unless of course Isaac begs sweetly. 

He turns his head to the side, wanting to see Derek. The alpha is sitting in his usual seat by the bed, legs spread wide enough to easily accommodate Stiles’ broad shoulders. Derek’s got one hand resting lazily on top of the human’s bobbing head but his attention is centered on Isaac. 

Knowing he’s got all of Derek’s attention makes Isaac want to howl. He changes it into a surprised high noise when Erica’s sly fingers sneak in under Allison’s arm to tweak his sensitive nipples. “He always sounds so good.” Erica muses, chin resting comfortably on the brunette’s shoulder before asking wickedly, “Hey Boyd, think you can make him scream harder?”

Boyd’s response is to fucking jackhammer into Isaac, making him yelp and moan louder than ever before. He can feel his awareness splintering, every thrust and touch causing the cracks to spread wider and wider until Isaac feels like he’s floating. Distantly he’s aware of Derek and Stiles joining the rest of them on the bed, getting a chance to breathe when Boyd pulls away.

Isaac’s trying to remember why oxygen is important for him when many hands help him lie down on his side. There’s two pairs of soft hands massaging his sore wrists (Erica and Scott), curious fingers sliding in and out of his puffy hole (Stiles maybe) and from a distance, Derek is calling his name.

"Isaac? Are you okay?" Derek asks, the back of his fingers gently slapping against Isaac’s hot face. Isaac nods, feeling so empty the second Stiles pulls his fingers out. "Can you take two?" Derek asks.

"Who?" Isaac rasps.

"Stiles and Erica." 

Stiles who loves to bite and Erica who loves to leave scratches on his hips as she fucks into him with their favorite black strap-on. The thought of taking both of them at the same time has Isaac moaning and leaning into Derek’s hand, nodding fervently before begging, “Please. Yes, please, yes.”

This time, when Stiles and Erica slide all the way into him and his wolf howls inside his chest? Isaac howls with it.

* * *

51.

Derek Hale was never meant to be an alpha.

The more they worked together defending Beacon Hills against the onslaught of supernatural creatures, the more Chris could see it—the way Derek responded to praise, to a pat on the back, or to a simple command that Chris asked of him.

Derek was still an omega. He never quite accepted Scott as his alpha, not in the way Derek needed an alpha. But Derek _did_ seem to accept Chris.

It was just fooling around at first, a way to blow off steam. They were both lonely and felt isolated in Beacon Hills, so they fucked sometimes. It was a friends with benefits arrangement, but Chris knew he could give Derek more. He knew he could give Derek what he craved, what he really needed.

When the full moon came, Chris was ready. He invited Derek over under the guise of a case they were helping the Sheriff with. As soon as Derek walked in the door, Chris was on him, tugging off his jacket and ripping off his t-shirt.

“I thought you had a lead on the Trickster.” Derek gasped as Chris reached a hand down Derek's jeans.

“I do. He went to San Bernardino. Not our problem anymore,” Chris replied, before shoving his tongue into Derek's mouth.

Derek, ever the martyr, pulled away. “You know it's the full moon. I might lose control.”

“It's a good thing I have ropes ready then.” Chris turned and headed toward his bedroom.

“Wait. Are you serious?” Derek called after Chris.

“See for yourself,” Chris said as Derek followed him into the bedroom.

Tied to Chris' bedposts were four thick ropes.

“I dipped them in a mild wolfsbane solution, so they won't hurt unless you struggle against them. If you'll let me?”

Derek only nodded slowly with wide eyes, which Chris took as a good sign. He let Derek undress, although he was itching to do it for him.

“On the bed. On your back.” Chris tried to sound casual as he took off his shoes.

Derek obeyed without protest. Like Chris knew he would. 

Chris tied Derek's wrists and his ankles to the bedposts until Derek was spread out wide. His cock was already hard against his belly. He _could_ get out if he really wanted, the wolfsbane was only enough to be a little uncomfortable. Chris could see Derek was already fighting against the change the wolfsbane tried to induce.

“Relax. You can tell me to stop at any time.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't hurt me. You're secure here.”

Chris wasn't worried about himself. He just didn't want to hurt Derek. He'd been hurt enough for a series of lifetimes. 

He ran his hands down Derek's chest, raking through his chest hair, teasing his nipples. Then he went lower. He pushed a slicked finger inside Derek, drawing a quiet whimper out of him. Chris hadn't done this in years, opening up another man.

“I just want you to let go,” he murmured.

And Derek did. His claws came out first, then his sideburns. He turned in toward the pillow, trying to hide.

“It's just you and me here, Derek. Look at me.”

It took him a minute, but then Derek turned to meet Chris' gaze. With eyes locked, Chris pushed a second finger in, feeling Derek clench down as he pressed against Derek's prostate. Derek let out a low growl as his eyes flashed blue.

“Stay still. Let me take care of you.”

He wrapped his lips around the head of Derek's cock and sank down. Then he pulled up and went back down, taking Derek's cock deep in his throat, his nose brushing Derek's pubic hair. He put a hand on Derek's abdomen, feeling it clench as Derek fought the urge to thrust up, but Derek obeyed Chris' command.

Chris thrust his fingers in as he sucked down and rubbed Derek's prostate as he came back up. Over and over he worked, letting the rhythm lull Derek into a peaceful headspace. 

When Derek was close, Chris pulled off enough to say, “Come.”

With a twist of Chris' fingers, Derek's whole body released its tension. His legs and arms trembled afterward, until finally he looked peaceful.

Moonlight streamed in through the window and illuminated Derek's body. It was the first time Chris had ever seen Derek in his wolf form relaxed.

* * *

52.

Laughter echoes through the forest, dead leaves crinkling underfoot as dozens of bodies swarm the trees. The air cools and the sun sets; darkness brings with it a sense of anticipation. Derek stands at the edge of the clearing that holds his family home with the other wolves his mother invited.

A light breeze blows past them, bringing with it a mix of scents. Growls rise up from all sides, impatient and wanting, and Derek feels one rise in his own throat; he’s caught whiff of a scent that sends thrills down his spine.

He inches forward toward the trees, only stopping when his mother snarls in warning. He stops, rolling his shoulders back. His wolf itches just under his skin, clawing for control, but he holds back.

_Just a little longer._

Finally, he sees it; the full moon peeking up over the trees. A howl breaks the silence and Derek takes off into the dark forest with the other wolves.

The moon has risen and now the chase begins.

*

Derek lets his instincts take control, shifting seamlessly from human to beta between one breath and the neck. He pauses just feet into the forest, lifting his nose into the air to search for that scent again.

When he catches it, he howls.

*

The scent leads to a boy in a red hood. He blinks at Derek in surprise but doesn’t resist when Derek crowds him. They fall to the forest floor together, rolling among the leaves. The boy’s legs fall open and Derek fits himself between them, growling in pleasure when he feels feet hook around his thighs, holding him in place.

“ _Mine,_ ” he snarls and the boy’s delicious scent floods with arousal.

*

Their clothes are strewn around them in tattered remains. Derek doesn’t know what they’ll do come morning and he doesn’t care; not when he’s buried deep within the heat of his mate’s body.

Derek snaps his hips forward, harsher than he intended, and his mate gasps, digging his nails into the meat of Derek’s back.

“Again,” he demands and groaning, Derek complies.

Their coupling is rough. Derek used to think he would be gentle; that he would take his time when he finally found his mate. He supposes there’s time for that later. Now, the moon’s pull and his mate’s impatience shreds his control until all he can do is _take_ what is given willingly.

*

His mate is loudest when Derek’s knot swells within him, crying out in surprise and pleasure and just a hint of pain. Derek shushes him, soothes him, wondering if perhaps it’s too much.

He knows the opposite is true when his mate’s comes at the first touch of Derek’s hand.

*

“What’s your name?” He feels ashamed for not asking before but his mate doesn’t seem too upset.

“Stiles,” is the reply.

“I’m Derek.”

Stiles smiles shyly. “I know.”

*

They couple twice more that night. The frenzy of the first claiming is over and Derek finally gets his slow, his gentle. They rock together for what feels like hours, mouths and hands exploring, discovering. Stiles begs for his knot each time; Derek is happy to give it, to bury himself deep and stay there.

The last time, Stiles sighs his pleasure.

“You’re mine,” he whispers reverently and Derek spurts inside him, moaning.

Being claimed feels just as good as claiming.

*

Derek wakes in the late morning, Stiles spread out on top of him. His cock stirs in interest when he looks down at the expanse of Stiles’ back, sees the bruises he’s left on his mate’s skin. His hand skims the top of Stiles’ ass, wondering if he could turn him over and get his mouth on Stiles’ cock before he wakes, when a throat clears to his right.

His mother and the town Sheriff stand a few feet away, both wearing unimpressed expressions. Stiles groans and shifts, waking slowly.

“Am I in trouble?” He mumbles; he’s seen their company, then.

“I’d say so,” the Sheriff says drily. “Get dressed; we’ll discuss it over breakfast with your new _in-laws_.”

Clothes are tossed onto them and they disappear in the direction of the house. Derek looks at Stiles.

“Why are we in trouble?” He asks, frowning.

Stiles grins sheepishly. “I wasn’t supposed to be part of the hunt.”

Derek groans and lets his head fall back with a soft _thump_ ; his mother is going to kill him.


	7. Group C - no warnings or pairings

53.

“Damnit, Scott, don’t you ever clean up after yourself?” Derek strolled back into his room, towel drying his hair. Scott moved across the floor, completely bare, kicking a discarded pillow out of his way. Stiles was resting lightly on Derek’s bed, blankets and a pile of their night clothes, in a messy nest.

Dropping his towel in the hamper, Derek climbed up on next to Stiles sweat- slicked body. Rolling Stiles’ come-covered ass up into the air, Derek inspected his lover. Like a bad puppy, Scott always wanted to mark what he thought was his, usually in the sloppiest way possible.

“You snooze, you lose,” Scott chuckled, from where he lounged handsomely naked in the second-hand chair he had climbed into. “If you hate it so much, clean him out.” 

Derek really wanted to rip the smirk off Scott’s smug little face; the other alpha was growing a tad egotistical lately. Derek’s eyes flashed red at the self-satisfied look . 

Derek pulled Stiles’ plump asscheeks apart, exposing every wet trail leaking from his used hole. Careful to keep his nails blunt, Derek rubbed his index finger over Stiles’ puckered hole, watching it cinch tight. Slowly he wiggled into Stiles slick entrance, scooping out a gob of Scott’s come. 

“Man, I can’t believe you’re – Hey, that’s my shirt!” 

Derek raised an eyebrow, wiping his dirty hand one more time on Scott’s discarded shirt before tossing it back to it’s owner. “If you hate it, clean it up.”

“Hah hah. Fuck you, dude - wait, what the hell are you doing?”

“Showing you the proper way to take care of your toys. Watch.” 

Stiles was always more pliable after an organism, making it particularly easy to move his angular limbs to Derek’s whims. Pulling Stiles’ ass up, Derek swiped his tongue around Stiles’ hole, tasting come and sweat. The strong mix of Scott and Stiles’ scents burned his nose.

A moan from Stiles made Derek pause, finger still half buried. “Come on, Derek; it’s Saturday,” Stiles groaned hoarsely, looking back over his shoulder, ”Don’t you two ever sleep in? We can watch - _shit_.””

“Oops, sorry,” Derek chucked, not sorry at all. Not when Scott was letting out a growl from his spot in the corner. Derek curled his finger, earning a hiss from Stiles.

“Why am I the tug toy between you and Scott?” Stiles gasped. Adjusting his knees, Stiles arched his back so his ass was higher in the air, pulling Derek in deeper.

Scott’s low growl swept the room. Derek could see Scott’s claws dig into the chair, his eyes closed, hiding the red.

“Down boy,” Stiles moaned, rocking back on Derek’s long finger, “no one’s making you stay.”

Scott’s eyes snapped open, looking at Derek, their eyes locking. Though Derek and Scott shared an odd threeway relationship with Stiles, neither Alpha had engaged in the other’s sexual activities. Stiles once joked it was like he had a wife and a mistress that both knew each other. Only with pretty penises. 

Scott’s eyes narrowed and Derek read the challenge loud and clear. _Like hell I’m leaving._

Derek slowly let his claws extend on his free hand, until they were pressing pale, crescent moon marks into Stiles’ hips. Like hell _he’d_ leave.

“Oh, God. Just stop with the Alpha pissing contest and fuck me, Derek. Later you can - _oh!_ ” 

Pressing another finger into Stiles, Derek tapped at Stiles’ bundle of nerves, smiling at the sound of Stiles heartbeat growing louder. Sensing his mate’s arousal, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hip with his free hand, hiking Stiles’ ass up to reveal a rapidly hardening cock.

Shifting them a little to the right, Derek kept his eyes on Scotts face, enjoying the moment Scott realized he could see that he could see all of Stiles. Scott’s whispered, “Fuck, _Derek,_ how does he get hard so fast?” was barely heard over Stiles’, “ _Fucking get on with the fucking._ ”

“Nice mouth you have on you. Now lets take care of this new problem that popped up.” Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, lapping along the pulse point, breathing in the deep mixed smells of Stiles, Scott, and himself.

* * *

54.

The first time it happens, Stiles doesn’t think anything of it.

He’s studying with Scott for finals, grateful that for the first time in years, this is literally the most stressful situation he has to deal with, and it’s glorious.

Then Scott lifts his head and sniffs at the air for at least the fifth time that hour.

Stiles finally breaks. “Dude, seriously, what are you doing?”

“Why do you smell like Derek?”

“Oh, I crashed at his place last night doing research, and he lent me a shirt this morning.” Stiles shrugs and tries to resist the urge to rub his face all over it. Seriously, it’s so soft.

Scott stares at him for a moment before shrugging, and it’s forgotten.

~*~*~

Stiles leaves for college a week before classes are due to start. Scott and his dad help out a lot, but surprisingly, Derek’s there the most, packing everything with delicate care.

The night before he leaves, though, Derek does something even more unexpected. He hugs Stiles.

“Have to work tomorrow, sorry,” Derek mutters into Stiles’ neck, like they do this regularly.

Berkeley is only a few hours away, but the hug is nice, and Derek’s scruff is surprisingly soft as he rubs it against Stiles’ neck, so he isn’t complaining.

It isn’t until Stiles unpacks later that he realizes Derek slipped his soft red henley into one of the boxes, and he smiles affectionately.

~*~*~

“So, is there something you wanna tell me?” Mason, Stiles’ new college roommate, asks a few weeks into the semester.

“Um…no?”

“I didn’t know you were dating a werewolf.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, glancing up from his textbook. “What are you talking about?”

“Your boyfriend. You know, the guy with the dark hair and beard, wears a leather jacket?”

“ _Derek_?”

Mason’s lips pull down into a frown. “You’re not dating him?”

“No!”

“But...why does the whole room reek? It smells like he symbolically pissed everywhere. It’s gross.”

“Oh.” Also, ew…but more importantly, _interesting_.

Mason gives him a significant look which Stiles manfully ignores.

~*~*~

“Are you scent-marking me?”

Derek’s head shoots up, eyes narrowed and suspicious, but Stiles knows better. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

A moment of silence passes, and then, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Stiles says, goes back to eating.

~*~*~

Four days later, Stiles’ history class lets out early, which gives him a prime opportunity for a quick jerk-off session and maybe a nap before his evening class.

Which would be great if there wasn’t a werewolf asleep in his bed. Stiles stares at Derek for a minute, first to make sure he’s still actually breathing, then to decide what to do about this.

It doesn’t take long.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Stiles grumbles, climbing into the bed on top of Derek. Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward, kissing Derek. It takes Derek a moment to fully wake up, and Stiles starts to fear for his life, when Derek’s hands frame his face, pulling him back down.

~*~*~ 

“Jesus fuck,” Stiles gasps out as Derek thrusts into him, brushing against his prostate.

Derek hovers over him, arms braced on either side of his head as he sucks at the bruise on Stiles’ neck like it might fade some time this decade. Stiles’ fingers trail up and down Derek’s back, into his hair, cup his ass, desperate to touch every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

Derek pulls away from his neck, scraping his teeth against the underside of Stiles’ jaw. His thrusts are getting more erratic now, fucking Stiles with abandon. It’s a wonder they haven’t broken Stiles’ crappy dorm bed yet. Stiles tugs at Derek’s hair, slotting their mouths together as he rocks his hips into Derek. His cock is hard, dripping with precome, the only friction an occasional brush against Derek’s stomach.

Reaching down, Stiles takes himself in hand and starts stroking. It feels amazing with Derek inside him, until suddenly he stops, pulls out, and starts jerking off himself. It only takes a couple pulls of his dick before Derek’s coming with a soft moan, spurting across Stiles’ stomach and chest. The sight is enough to send Stiles over the edge, too. He reaches up, drags Derek down for a searing kiss, before Derek spoons up beside him in the bed, fingers trailing through the now-drying come on his stomach.

“So...scent-marking,” Stiles says.

Derek at least has the decency to look chagrined. “It...may be a thing after all?”

* * *

55.

The package arrives on a Friday afternoon, just as speedy and discreet as promised. Allison doesn’t blush when she takes it, but her hands sweat when she hurries into her room, glad her father is not in the house. She locks the door and closes the blinds anyway. 

When Scott became the true Alpha, she had remembered the tales from the Argent Bestiary. The memory of her mother urging her to read, the stories of men and women left wrecked and ravaged by the inhuman… attributes of Alphas meant as a deterrent, proof of why werewolves were monsters is sharp and she pushes it away. Those stories are not why her fingers tremble when they pull her purchase from the box. 

There were other stories too – _women turned into wanton whores, begging to be bred on the alpha’s organ like a bitch in heat, senseless in their depravity_. That is the memory that makes her gasp as her fingers brush the tissue paper aside and unwrap the toy. 

The toy is close to Scott in length and color, but it’s the _knot_ at the base that has her riveted, heat pooling between her legs. As thick as her clenched fist, it bulges out obscenely only to narrow down before a flared base. 

Allison runs a finger from the base to the tip and shivers in anticipation and shame. She is Argent. She should not, and had not when it had been Peter or Derek, and despite Lydia’s smug smiles all of the Alpha pack makes her skin crawl, but when it’s her – when it’s Scott? She’s spent hours with her fingers buried deep between her legs, four barely enough, thinking about it and aching with emptiness. She _wants_ , and she knows she can’t have so this is the next best thing. 

Her knees tremble when she stands up and pulls up a wooden chair, the suction cup making a loud, lewd sound when she fastens it to what is the perfect spot for her to sink down on it. 

Before she can get cold feet, Allison shucks off her clothing, her pink panties already soaked through when she pulls them down her long legs. Her heart hammers in her throat as she straddles the chair, hands gripping the backrest, and slowly lowers herself down until the toy is brushing against her dripping pussy. 

Usually, Allison likes to take her time, to play with her nipples till they’re almost too sensitive, to un her hands along her sides and just tease her curls with her fingertips before she touches herself where she wants it most. But this is different. This is – something primal. 

She takes a deep breath and lowers herself down on the toy. The thick head of the dildo breaches her easily, sliding in with one try. It feels bigger than she thought it would, thick and hard and unyielding as she arches her back, slowly taking more of it inside her body till she brushes against the impossibly wide knot. She stills and inhales sharply, slowly sinking down a fraction of an inch but despite how wet she is the knot is too big for her to take straight away. 

Allison groans and slowly she begins to fuck herself on the toy, tilting her hips just a fraction until it’s hitting her just right with every bend of her knees, sending sparks down her spine. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the chair tighter with every pass, the slick sound of her juices dripping and pooling on the chair so loud to her own ears it makes her head spin. She feels so full already, but she wants _more_. She wants to be split open, taken, she _craves_ the knot inside her throbbing pussy. 

Allison bites her lips every time the knot brushes against her puffy lips. She knows she can’t just slide down and take it, no matter how much she wants it, not without practice. As the first stirrings of an orgasm start tingling through her hips without a single touch to her aching clit, she thinks she’s going to get a _lot_ of practice. One of her hands leaves the backrest, her gymnast’s balance unaffected as she slides it down her soft belly to her dark curls. She sinks down, part of the knot sinking into her drenched cunt as her fingers press down on her clit. 

She comes _hard_ with a loud cry, too lost in her pleasure to hear the door.

* * *

56.

“I can’t…” A slap of wet skin on skin sounded out, followed by a strangled grunt as Stiles felt the air knocked out of him by the brutal thrust.

Peter shushed him like he was a skittish colt, petting at the sides of Stiles’ dark hair and cradling his head in his lap as he was pushed forward rhythmically by Derek’s strong hips.

“Yes you can,” Peter cooed, sliding his fingers inside of Stiles’ mouth so he couldn’t talk anymore. Stiles sucked on them, moaned as Peter hooked behind his teeth and tugged, Derek picking up speed. Stiles’ bound arms kept his head forced down, his shoulders aching with strain, his whole body tight and throbbing.

“Can you feel his knot inside of you, baby? Can you feel it growing?”

Stiles’ eyes grew glassy, the swelling of the knot warm and huge and tugging against his sensitive rim with each stroke. He tried to form words but ended up biting down on Peter’s knuckles, and the wolf above him swore and pulled back his hand to slap Stiles right across the face. Stiles cried out more from the indignity of it rather than the pain, though the more time passed the more it stung. 

“Little bitch. Be good for your Alphas, Stiles.”

Derek grunted behind him, the knot finally large enough to lock their bodies together, and Derek used Stiles' bound wrists to just rock Stiles into him again and again. Stiles’ back was slick with sweat, his muscles burning, thighs quivering from being spread for far too long.

The dirty sounds of Derek’s orgasm were loud and rasping, Stiles panting and clenching down around the thick knot. He could feel the come spilling in him, filling him up, hot in his belly. He was full, so full, had been full all day. And would be filled to the brim all night as both wolves pumped as much come inside as possible, the heat licking at their blood, driving them mad with it. With the need to hold and possess and _breed_. 

“That’s it. Take it all,” Peter purred, holding Stiles’ chin up so he could see each flicker of pleasure-pain cross his features. Stiles closed his eyes but burned under the gaze, shame and pleasure twining just beneath his skin. “Can you feel his pups all the way inside of you, Stiles? Is your belly full with them? Round with them?”

Stiles full out moaned, Derek’s claws gentle on his hips but the tips sharp enough to prick, picking him up effortlessly until he was seated right on Derek’s swollen dick. Stiles kicked his legs back, shuffling to find a position that kept him upright but ending up squirming right on the knot while Peter watched with a cloying smirk.

He crawled closer, eyes a vivid shade of crimson, reaching forward to trail his fingers over the slightly rounded curve of Stiles’ stomach. Gravity made everything sink lower, and Stiles could feel the thick mess of come trying to slip out, the knot preventing most of it but his cheeks growing sticky with moisture.

“Put him on his back so it will take,” Peter said to Derek this time, flicking down to toy with Stiles’ leaking cock as almost an after-thought. Stiles felt fat tears welling up, his body used beyond its limits, a rag wrung out one too many times.

Derek shifted him around, pulling Stiles’ limbs so he slid on the knot, the pressure intense and star-inducing behind tightly clenched eyelids. It was when Stiles felt Peter dip the bed behind Derek, pushing his hands behind Stiles’ knees and curving his body so the come could drain down into him that Stiles finally lost it, coming almost painfully with only Derek's loose fist around him.

* * *

57.

“Are you scared?”

Lydia was, she couldn’t help it. She was all alone, stayed behind in false safety in an untidy, dusty hotel room while her friends followed a trail that could only lead to bloodshed. It could be hours until they returned. Passing the time, she was surprised when the door to her room opened and it came inside. 

Not so much an it on second sight, more a werewolf that looked unlike any she had seen. His eyes glowed red, his face was looking much more beast like than the other werewolves, but it was still a mouth - with very sharp teeth. His entire skin was an unnatural dark grey. His bare chest and arms were incredibly muscular: almost no fat and with pronounced veins.

“Don’t come closer or I’ll scream.” 

“Try.” He moved incredibly fast, his left hand grabbed her throat and trapped her scream.

Pressed against the wall, she had barely enough air to breathe. Lydia tried to remain calm, but her heart was beating as if it wanted to jump out of her chest. He had to hear and feel it being so close to her. Despite her efforts tears streamed down her face, as he dug his thumb deeper under her jaw. 

Roughly he bend her head to her side and began sniffing her exposed skin. A muffled yelp escaped her, when she felt the tips of his canines scratch over neck.

“Definitely scared,” his growly voice sounded quite satisfied.

“Let me go, please.”

“Have your werewolf friends never told you, you shouldn’t trespass into someone’s territory unbidden, unless you can handle the consequences?” It was more a threat than a question. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Maybe, but .. since you’re not a hunter and not wolf,” he grinned. “Then again, you smell of them.” Lydia swallowed hard as she felt a hard bulge pressing against her stomach. “I could change that,” he suggested. 

Following his offer, Lydia felt him tasting her tears. 

“Unless, you rather have me kill you, Lydia.”

“Oh my g…” She realised whom she was dealing with: “Deucalion.”

“I like how you say that ... I know you like werewolves, don’t you?” 

Lydia wanted to scream NO but didn’t dare to. Deucalion knew about her and Aiden and he wasn’t the only one. Despite being terrified, she formed a strategy.

“I do.” Sounding meek, she let her hands do the talking: ignoring the blood on his abs, she ran her fingers over the them. Deucalion tilted his head looking down on her. Lydia did her best to slow her breathing, when she let one hand slide over his hips and then between his legs.

Part of her wanted him to ask to change back, but that would show more weakness. Lydia wanted to both impress him with boldness as well as flatter his ego. In the end, from what she felt, the anatomy was still the same where it counted. She just had to hope he wasn’t going to give into any urges to give her hickeys.

Deucalion didn’t stop her, probably wanting to see how it played out. Taking advantage of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a belt, she let her bloody hand slip past his waistband while using her other to open his pants to allow her further access. His hair was incredibly soft - furry - she had to admit she liked how it felt.

A soft growl game from his throat when her hand touched his dick. Once she had pulled down his jeans and pants, she felt it grow even more, until it had become hard against her hands. One wasn’t even able to wrap itself around the thick shaft. Lydia could handle it, quite literally, while she was better at blowjobs than handjobs, in this case it was probably for the best.

All she heard were approving grunts, as she stroke its length with one hand while her other one gave some additional attention to his balls. It didn’t take her long to figure out how he prefered a firmer grip and it excited her how her touches elicited more and more unholy, lustful groans. Lydia felt his blood pump through his cock and finally she felt hot, sticky liquid splash against her abdomen, chest and hands. He let out a deep satisfied groan, that almost drowned her sigh of relief. This hadn’t been as awful as she had feared.

Deucalion looked at her: “This was a nice start.”

Lydia gulped.

* * *

58.

The nogitsune left behind a stain. Stiles can feel it under his skin, something has changed. His body is different and he’s not even sure if it’s his anymore. Old scars that looked faded and familiar in his mirror one day are disappearing and gone the next. 

He’s alone in his head now but his body isn’t his anymore, at least not the one he knew.

Stiles doesn’t tell anyone this. Not after everything they’ve been through, what he put them through, losing Allison. He doesn’t want to worry them anymore. 

So he tries to ignore it, this body that isn’t quite his but is all he has left.

It’s hard though. It’s not just the peek a boo scars. 

It takes him awhile to notice but he doesn’t need as many pills as he used to. He can go longer and longer without and there’s a silence in his head that’s never been there before. After that he starts to catalogue the other changes: his hearing, his sight, his balance.

He’s not suddenly getting superpowers. It’s nowhere near the level of freaky awesomeness Scott has going on. It’s just noticeably _better_. 

It’s that acknowledgement that drives him to Derek’s loft. Not for Derek though. 

Peter doesn’t even look surprised when he opens the door. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come around.” He looks bored and Stiles would buy it if he didn’t catch the faintest sound of his heartbeat speeding up, like a radio going in and out of frequency. 

He’s also alone and Stiles is thankful for that.

“You said you knew what was going on with me.” He’s proud of the fact that it doesn’t come out like the plea for answers it is. 

“I do.” Peter closes the door behind him and brushes a hand against his spine. “I’ve missed you.” His voice softens and Stiles tries not to think about “Operation Lose His V-Card” and Peter’s starring role in that. It’s not what he came here for.

Peter’s hand is warm against his back, almost possessive and Stiles can’t pull himself away, body arching into the touch and _what the fuck_?

“What the fuck?” he all but moans at the touch and he can feel the freaking smirk against his neck followed by a quick flash of teeth before Peter pulls away. He feels a bit lost at the sudden absence.

“It’s still very much your body, by the way.” Peter gives him a quick leer before circling around him and walking to the couch. Stiles follows because he wants to hear what Peter has to say, not because it was the first time it had really felt like his own body since he stopped sharing his head with a psycho. “The nogitsune made a few changes to make it more habitable. But just because it’s gone doesn’t mean that gets erased.”

“So what am I now?” And really, it’s the question that’s been haunting him. It’s not even just the changes to his body; he’s not sure what’s left after the nightmare.

Peter sits down on the couch, smirking. “To simplify it, a shade of a kitsune, not entirely but enough. You also could be mine now.” He stands and Stiles tries to catch up, to take in the whole “not completely human anymore” thing (he pretty much knew that) along with the sudden possessiveness.

“Wait, what?” He doesn’t back off as Peter approaches him, lets him tilt his head up so their eyes meet.

“Did you know werewolves can’t mate with humans? It’s just never worked.” He presses a kiss to Stiles lips, teeth biting and claws sharp on his arms as they lengthen.

“I’m not human anymore,” Stiles breathes out between them, realizing. 

Peter grips him tighter, smiling as he kisses him. “No, you’re not.”

*~*~*~*

Later, when Peter has him bent over the couch and he’s biting at his shoulder, he finds out another thing werewolves can’t do with humans. It’s called a _knot_ and it’s amazing as it catches at his rim, forcing him open wide around it as Peter presses in more. Stiles screams into the cushions from the pain and pleasure of it and Peter laughs against the wet skin of his neck.

They stay locked together, Peter burning his way into this body that’s only his now as he whispers secrets into his ear. He makes promises as he puts Stiles back together.

For the first time since he looked in the mirror _after_ , he lets himself sink into the weight of his own skin.

* * *

59.

Derek wasn’t sure when it became tradition, but whenever he and Stiles got stuck on a stakeout together, Stiles brought an iPad loaded with movies. They were the kind of movies everyone had seen so you didn’t need to pay attention to them, but the background noise was nicer than awkward silence and Stiles’ random babbling. 

Steve Rodgers had just been juiced by Project Rebirth and glistened with sweat the first time Derek scented it. Stiles hadn’t shifted or adjusted himself in any way - it wasn’t even physically noticeable -- but the scent of arousal was unmistakable and strong enough that Derek had to breathe through his mouth until the scent faded an hour later.

They were on another stakeout when it happened again. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark raged in a shouting match and the air got so thick and heavy that Derek had to crack a window. 

They were all at The Winter Soldier when it happened next. Steve Rogers ran through the Lincoln Memorial in a shirt so tight it could only be labeled obscene and Derek had to shift in his seat and subtly adjust his pants. 

They were on another stakeout when Derek finally snapped. Loki shifted into Captain America to goad Thor and seconds later the rich, heady scent of _sexlustwant_ lifted to his nose. Derek looked to the heavens for strength and closed his eyes. 

“Captain America? Really? What are you, 12?” And he didn’t even care because Chris Evans _was_ gorgeous, but he couldn’t take it anymore. Every time he and Stiles watched a movie together he was getting pavlovian sympathy boners. It had to stop.

“Bzuh?” Stiles was mid-sip out of a straw when he turned his head, his expression confused. He looked ridiculously endearing and Derek had to look away. 

“Captain America. You seem to,” Derek couldn’t make eye contact so he looked out his windshield and cleared his throat, “enjoy him.” 

“Oh! Um,” Stiles fingers drummed his thigh and bit his lip. The sharp scent of embarrassment pierced the arousal and it was such a relief that Derek took a deep breath. “It’s the, erm, strength. His super strength. I kind of...” he trailed off and mumbled “fucking werewolves” under his breath.

“Strength,” Derek began. And he didn’t even bother to question the lack of arousal over Thor, because Stiles’ arousal made his brain malfunction; he felt reckless and stupid after months of Captain BlueBalls taunting him. He grabbed his socket wrench out of the back seat. “You mean like this?” He bent it in half.

Stiles’ eyes went wide and liquid, barely any of the amber remaining. “Nngh.” The bitten off moan fueled Derek’s recklessness. Stiles licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah, like that.” 

Derek, without breaking eye contact, reached in the backseat and grabbed his hammer. “And this?” He bent that in half too, and Stiles made a delicious, choked-off noise as the scent of arousal in the car went from mild to suffocating in a fraction of a second. 

Stiles took the hammer from Derek’s loose grip and threw it in the back seat before he grabbed his collar and smashed their lips together. It was messy and enthusiastic and Derek rolled his tongue and savored every second. 

He moved his hand to Stiles’ belt and relished the low hiss of “yessss” that leaked out between their lips. He slipped his hand in the opening of Stiles’ pants and squeezed his hand around Stiles’ erection. “Fuck, Derek,” he whimpered when Derek rubbed his thumb around the head of his cock. 

Derek pushed his fingers through the thick tufts of Stiles’ hair and tugged him closer, kissing him deeper, and hating the car’s center console between them. He kissed Stiles like he’d never get another chance, memorizing every bite, lick, and breath between them.

Stiles’ dick was wet and messy as he stroked it and Derek worked for his groans and whimpers as he twisted and pulled at it. Stiles shook against him when his fingers brushed his sac and Derek could _smell_ that he was about to come; it was olfactory nirvana. Derek worked him and gave a final, tight squeezing tug and Stiles cried out when he came.

Stiles sagged against him and Derek his discomfort to savor the moment. “So, super strength...”

“No, it’s,” Stiles shook his head. “Steve, he’s...” He appeared undecided for a moment until he pushed forward and met his lips in a soft kiss, hands wandering south. “It’s you,” Stiles whispered, his voice earnest and his eyes shining. “Steve is nice like you.”

* * *

60.

" _Annually the female red foxes will experience an estrous period of lasting from 1 to 6 days. They ovulate spontaneously with or without copulation. The exact time of estrous and breeding varies. December-January for the southern fox population, and February-April for the north. Males fight during the breeding season. They have a fecundity cycle only from November to March, with full spermatogenesis._ " Kira read aloud from the Animal Diversity Web page on her phone, voice sweetly small and crisp like a school girl that was getting graded for her poetry.

Stiles's face was an amalgamation of two parts can you not, one part oh I didn’t know that, and three parts _**but why, Kira**_. They were sitting in his jeep. It was after school, when Kira made some implausible excuse to ditch Scott (who swallowed the excuse down smiling like an animated sunflower) and then kidnapped Stiles (politely, with a Mars bar and small hands at Stiles’ sleeve) into his own jeep to ‘talk’. 

"-- _The red fox’s mating behavior varies, and while most often they are monogamous, males with multiple female mates are also know. Female foxes may also mate with any number of males, but they will establish partnership with only one male. The red fox groups always have only one breeding male, but that male may also seek mating outside of the group._ This is from MacDonald and Reynolds, 2005."

“You said you wanted to ‘talk’…?” Stiles cut in meekly, air-quoting the last word hoping Kira might speak human. At Kira’s big, pleading eyes, Stiles made a perhaps-whimpering noise and slumped shoulders for Kira to continue. 

He, however, drew the line when Kira angled her phone over to play a YouTube video of Foxes Mating. The male fox aligned himself mounting the female after a couple of rounds of flirtatious playing. Once he humped his way in, the female’s tail tossed to the side like a sad accessory, the two started to twist in opposite directions. For a second there, Stiles was curious as to what they were trying to do, and then he realized it as the two foxes stayed stuck together with their hinds locked tightly together, still squirming and twitching all over, kind of like a tug-of-war. Or tug of knot. (A flash of the XXXL condom danced by Stiles’ mind, quickly traumatizing him further). 

Stiles threw his arms up in a wild bout of protest, “But what are you trying to do here----and oh my **god** what is that **smell** \---!” Stiles made to throw himself out of the door of his own jeep to get away from the suffocatingly strong, musky, skunk-like odour, and then thought better of it in a moment of conscience (which consisted solely of Scott’s judgmental stare back when they were four) and opened the windows instead. 

Kira looked about ready to either explode from all the redness in her face, or cry, both of which would kill Stiles dead. “…I’m so sorry Stiles…I… I don't want to talk to my mom about a _third puberty_ …or whatever you call this…“

Stiles made offended faces at her, “I am no longer a fox!”

“But you’re the only one I know that might be able to relate!”

“---to **what exactly**?!” Stiles squawked.

Kira squirmed, small hands neatly folded in her lap, “I…I don’t know…the horrible _impulses_ I’ve been getting lately, the _smell_ , the _heat_ , and oh god, do you have a knot?!”

“Again, no longer a fox here!”

“Do you think Scott has a knot??”

“I haven’t heard him screeching about it so I don’t think so???”

“Oh…” Kira looked mightily relieved and maybe a hint disappointed, “Oh! Did you know that there is a website that sells [In Heat Urine](http://www.inheatscents.net/greyfox.html) from foxes, wolves, lynx, and more? Do you think that would…” Kira’s bright eyes were wide as though in awe, and her voice went even tinier (Stiles didn’t know why, when she could read In Heat Urine out loud before), “…work on werewolves?”

"Kira, if you wanted to hook up with Scott, just say so. Ask your mom about the smell – I am not kidding. I can guarantee you Scott will not need … urine, to convince him to do anything with you. Are we good? Drive you home? Yeah? Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

61.

Stiles wasn't the first one to see it. That was Lydia. But when she saw it, it frightened her. But for Stiles, it wasn't the same. The knowledge tasted sharp in his chest and felt like drawing too near to a fire. He thought he liked it. Because Peter, well. Peter looked.

Peter looked and Stiles knew.

And he never said a word.

 

The nogitsune, though, wasn't afraid to talk. He found Peter in Derek's loft. Peter stepped aside to let him in and as he passed, the he caught the way Peter's eyes darted lower when he thought Stiles wasn't looking, quick and subtle.

Peter said something about Derek not being in. Stiles said "I see the way you look at us."

Stiles wouldn't have noticed it, but the nogitsune saw the sharp tension in Peter's back. "Me. Lydia. Allison. Who else?" He grabbed the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulled it off over his head. Peter's head twitched towards him. "Does Derek know?"

And then Peter was just _there_ , suddenly in front of him, looking every inch the wolf even though his features hadn't yet shifted. "What are you doing?" he asked, lips tilted mockingly. "Why are you here?"

He let his pants fall to the floor. He toed off his shoes and Peter stepped back, watching him with hungry, predatory eyes. He cupped himself through his boxers. He was already half-hard, caused by a mixture of teenaged hormones and the excitement prickling just beneath his skin.

Peter's eyes flickered to Stiles' groin. "Is this how we're playing it, then?" His eyes went red.

 

The nogitsune let Peter fuck Stiles right there in the middle of the room, face down on the cold, slightly dusty floor. Clawed hands left scratches on the floor. Peter's tongue lolled against Stiles' throat. "Come on," the nogitsune encouraged. "Is that all you've got?"

"Oh, Stiles," Peter promised. His voice was gutteral and his fanged mouth mangled the words on their way out. "I'm just getting started." He felt impossibly huge in Stiles' ass. Every thrust sent jolt of pain through Stiles' body. Peter's fur felt coarse against Stiles' bare back.

Peter came inside Stiles. Stiles came all over the floor. He had no bite marks on his body but there was a series of shallow grooves on his hip, right where Peter had held him still.

Afterwards, when the nogitsune had managed to shove Stiles' body back into Stiles' clothes, he nodded at the spot on the floor. "When they come back, they'll smell it," he said.

Peter's good humor had faded. Now, he looked vaguely ill. He hid it poorly. "Then you'd better leave so I can clean your scent out."

 

But when the others came for him, he knew from Derek's uncomfortable glances, that Derek had still figured it out. But Derek didn't say anything to Stiles about it and Peter, though more nervous, continued to look at him.

The nogitsune blew his cover and died before he could use what he'd learned.

But when Stiles came back into himself, and when the worst of it all had faded, Peter was still _there_. And he still looked.

He dreamed about it sometimes. His mind went back to the memory of hot breath panting in his ear, the screech of claws tearing into wood, and the press of Peter's thick cock splitting him open. He woke from those dreams hard and panting, desperate for release.

So it didn't come as a surprise to him when he found himself at Peter's apartment.

And it didn't come as a surprise to him when Peter let him in.

* * *

62.

Scott doesn’t know who he thought he was kidding, coming here.

He thought, when he’d fled the temple, that he’d get a quiet drink somewhere too dark for people to recognize him. It’s not that he resents his status. It’s just, sometimes? He’d like just a little break from being people’s _only hope_ , all Oh-Bee-One Kenobi style. (And no, being named the First True Alpha in a hundred years hasn’t left much time for catching up on movies, even so-called “pillars of American sci-fi, jeez, Scott.”)

So he came here: a dark but tasteful club on the edge of town with a reputation for shadowy alcoves and discreet service.

It takes fifteen seconds for someone to recognize him.

“ _Your Grace_ ,” croons a uniformed woman. She takes in a deep breath of his scent. “It’s an honor having you here. We can arrange for a private room, if you like?”

Scott’s shoulders sag in disappointment. He’d just wanted a drink, maybe an uncomplicated dance with a pretty girl.

“Sure,” he says.

“Right this way.” 

She inclines her head respectfully as she turns, but Scott catches it when her eyes flash in an instinctive flinch. Scott ignores it, the same way he ignores similar reactions ten times a day. Scott’s scent is powerful, but even his mere presence makes most wolves recoil a bit. Even Isaac, a Believer and now Scott’s Beta, had initially said, _It’s like you attached a string to my bellybutton and then_ jerked _it_.

Heads turn as the attendant leads Scott through the club, golden eyes flashing at him from the recesses of deep booths and the throng of people on the dance floor. Scott stares straight ahead.

The room Scott is led to is lush, low-lit and covered in heavy fabric, and he drops himself into a velvety armchair with a sigh.

“Would Your Grace like some entertainment?”

“Um. Sure.” It comes out of Scott’s mouth before he even parses the question. _Entertainment_. She means a stripper. Or, wow, maybe a prostitute. There’s a reason this place has so many little rooms in the back, after all, oh God.

“Any preferences?” she asks

“Nope,” Scott’s mouth says, because it’s no longer connected to his brain. Preferences about _what_? Size? Shape? Gender? Ability to withstand his presence without flinching?

Scott spends the next four minutes sipping a cocktail and anxiously trying to decide what he’ll do when the woman comes in.

He regrets not specifying when the door opens and a _man_ walks in.

The guy’s not smooth and golden, like most dancers at this place. He’s got dark, distracting body hair swirling across his pecs and tapering to a thread that disappears under the…well. Scott supposes the only word for it is _loincloth_.

“Um,” Scott says intelligently.

“Your Grace,” the man says, standing very still, allowing Scott’s gaze to sweep over his thighs, his biceps, his solemn, bearded face.

He’s not Scott’s type at all. 90% of the people Scott’s been with have been dainty women, and the other 10% has been…Isaac.

The man’s eyes are alight, a steady blue, and while he’s clearly feeling the effects of Scott’s presence—he shivers, his gaze darts up and down Scott’s body—he’s not flinching.

“I’m Derek,” he says. “May I approach you, Your Grace?”

“Mmm-hmm,” says Scott, because Scott is a dork.

Derek stalks forward into Scott’s personal space, until his shins press hard against Scott’s knees. The loincloth hides very little, because Derek is growing helplessly, inexorably erect. 

“You’re a Believer,” Scott realizes, as he watches the loincloth tent.

“Yes,” Derek says, rather breathlessly. He’s taking quick breaths through his nose, sucking in Scott’s scent.

He’s not Scott’s type. And yet. No one’s ever had a reaction quite like this. Scott looks up into the man’s eyes, and his faith, his nascent loyalty makes the Alpha burn in Scott’s gut.

“May I?” Scott asks, already reaching for the straps at Derek’s hips.

“I should….” Derek shudders when the cloth whispers over his dick and then falls. “I should service you…”

Scott feels a sudden protectiveness come over him, a desire to protect that feeds straight into his cock and spread like a fever through his limbs. He wants to reward this man. 

“Shhh,” he says, and leans forward to swallow him whole.

* * *

63.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Derek reminded him.

"Yes, I do. Of course I do! Wait, do you not want to do the whole ritual thing?" Stiles asked.

"I want to," Derek rumbled into his ear, his body pressing Stiles' into the bed. "I want you by my side when we meet other packs. I want everyone to know you're my mate."

"Good." Stiles arched up a little, enough to press his cock into the curve of Derek's hip. "Then we're doing this."

"I'll show everyone that you're mine," Derek told him, as he moved his hand down to rub at Stiles' hole. "Show them all how good you are for me. How much you want me."

Stiles gasped a little as he pressed in with two fingers - he was had done some prep already, but Derek always liked doing more before he knotted him. Derek had told him once, flushing a little, that he needed to know for himself that he'd be hurting Stiles as little as possible.

By the time Derek pressed his cock in, Stiles was about insane with wanting. He was babbling encouragements that probably weren't making a lot of sense, but Derek was calmly and carefully pushing in and out, in and out, never hard or fast enough to satisfy him, just enough to keep him desperate for more.

"Come on, you asshole. Fuck me for real already," he hissed into Derek's neck.

Derek stopped entirely, just looking at Stiles with a quirk in his eyebrow. Stiles held Derek's gaze as long as he could, then -

"Please," he whispered, the bravado gone. "Please Derek, I need you to -"

Derek flipped them over so Stiles was on top of him, but it didn't give Stiles much more control - Derek was too strong, too powerful. All he could do was hang on as Derek drove up into him, again and again. 

Stiles felt Derek swelling in him as Derek started to rock more gently, letting Stiles' cock rub against his stomach but not enough, not enough -

Too much, too much as the knot got bigger. Every time they did this, Stiles thought he was going to burst, physically or emotionally; that he couldn't take one millimeter more, but then he did. He lost himself a little in breathing in and out, in balancing the arousal and the stretch

"Sounds like they're ready," he heard a woman's voice saying. Erica, it was Erica with her characteristic nonchalant drawl, but he could hear the excitement too.

"Come in," Derek called out, and Stiles tucked his head as far as he could into the crook of Derek's neck, trying to hide the red flush on his cheeks, trying to hide entirely. This was important, but he was happy to pretend it wasn't happening as much as possible.

The door opened and it didn't close. He heard footsteps and quiet chatter as the pack filed into the room.

"Wow," Boyd said, and the rest of the group was silent for a few moments.

"Good enough for me, I'm out," Scott said, and shut the door behind him.

"Get closer," Derek told the rest of them, and they obeyed their alpha, gathering around the edge of the bed. Derek reached down and pulled apart his cheeks even further than he was already opened, and he felt his face burning against Derek's skin.

"Does it hurt him?" Lydia asked, ever curious.

"He says it doesn't," Derek replied, "but he's lying."

"Can I?" Erica reached out her hand tentatively, and Derek grunted assent.

Stiles felt a cool finger touch him, delicately running along his stretched rim. He jerked forward a little and a breath of air was punched out of him, but he stayed otherwise quiet and still.

There were a few more fingers, all soft and unthreatening - Boyd? Isaac? - and then a smaller one that pushed a little, opening him up just a little further, accompanied by a feminine giggle.

Derek started rocking again, and Stiles felt open and vulnerable in more ways than one, the eyes of all his friends on where Derek was fucking him with his knot, huge and possessive. He felt hot with shame and arousal, but as Derek continued the arousal won out - it was too familiar, too comforting, despite the strangeness of the murmurs and unobtrusive touches. 

When he came, he came with Derek inside him and his pack watching. _His_ pack.

* * *

64.

“ _Fuuuuuck_ yeah, c’mon Der.” Stiles tried to move to get some friction but Derek had him firmly pinned down. “Stop teasing, asshole.” He whined. 

Derek had both of Stiles’ wrists held together at his back with one hand. Stiles heard the cap of what was probably the lube clicking open and shut and there was Derek’s finger, massaging his rim where it held the plug. Stiles let out a sigh of relief and tried to move back onto the wolf’s fingers but a minor growl had him staying still.

“Fuck, Der, you wont let me touch or see you and to top it all off I can’t move? What the fuck?” Stiles waited for an answer but Derek just kept moving his finger in and out from around the plug and Stiles was getting impatient. Is this a werewolf power trip? “Do you want me to beg? Is that what you want? Because I will.” 

The finger stopped moving for two seconds before it continued and Stiles took that as confirmation. “Derek I’ve had this thing in me for hours I need you, _please!_ ” 

Derek’s hold on his wrists became tighter and he slowly began to pull out the plug. Stiles could’ve cried in relief. His dick has been hard ever since he felt his mate’s weight on him, he needs to come.

When the plug was out Stiles felt empty and let out a whimper that he knew always drove Derek’s wolf crazy. Derek quickly moved two of his finger in Stiles’ hole, stretching him out further.

Stiles let out a desperate whine, “Please, I don’t need to be prepped any more. I need _you_.” Derek didn’t seem fazed so Stiles began to play dirty. He clenched around Derek’s fingers and bared his throat. “Fill me up, Der. Don’t you want to mark me? Make sure everyone knows who I belong to?”

The growl that the wolf let out was so satisfying it made Stiles’ body shiver in anticipation. Something was so incredibly wrong with his self-preservation instinct but whatever.

The fingers that were in him were replace by the head of Derek’s hot and heavy cock. The wolf gripped his hipbone with his free hand hard enough that he was sure he was going to bruise. He pressed in and Stiles couldn’t keep his groan from escaping, Derek bottomed out and Stiles felt so fucking full. 

Derek didn’t seem as thick as usual, maybe it’s because he had a plug the size of a small knot in him for so long but fuck it, Derek would stretch him to his limit soon enough. Stiles sometimes worried that he had a minor obsession with Derek’s knot. He could write odes to it, epics even. Stiles could feel that he was leaking onto the bed and he wanted his wolf to move. 

"Derek," Stiles breathes. “ _Please_.” He barely finished the plea when, without warning, Derek began to piston into him, hitting his prostate dead on with every other trust. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck - "

Stiles kept up a litany of _I love you. Please. Yes, right there. I’m yours, only yours._

The growling got louder and louder as Derek got rougher with him. "H-hard. So hard, Derek, so _deep_ , I - "Stiles is on the edge, his balls tightening, he just needs something—anything _more_ to get off. Derek seems to sense this and bites him _hard_ on the nape of his neck and the sting of it pushes Stiles over and he feels the orgasm being punched out of him, leaving him breathless and dizzy. 

Derek doesn’t slow down, he keeps pounding him through his orgasm and Stiles, still drunk of his release and certain that he won’t be able to walk right tomorrow, tries to help Derek find his own. 

“Come on. _Mark_ me, Der. _Knot_ me.” Derek’s breath began to come out in pants. “ _Claim me._ ”

Derek’s rhythm stutters and Stiles feels his come filling him up, warming up his insides, but he doesn’t feel Derek’s knot. An internal alarm in Stiles’ head went off at that because Derek said that since they were mates he’d always knot him when they have sex, it was instinct.

“Derek? What’s wrong?” Stiles felt him pull out and heard a zipper being pulled up. His wrists were finally released and he turned around and froze.

Peter was looking down at him with a shit-eating grin. “Say hello to my nephew for me.” He winked and left through the window.

* * *

65.

He loves the full moon.

There have been twelve since he was first claimed by his mate. It's an anniversary and they're going to celebrate.

He runs.

You shouldn't run from a predator, but he's not trying to get away. It's a chase to stir the blood of both hunter and hunted.

Bursting into a small clearing, the moon shining brightly directly overhead, he hears the growl from behind him and a shiver goes through him. Fear is a natural reaction, no matter that his head knows his mate won't hurt him. His brain is being overridden by his own primal instincts.

Run. Escape.

His feet are already moving his body out of the clearing, when he's hit in the back, taken down to the mossy covered ground. Landing hard, the air driven from him, he feels hot moist breath on the back of his neck before fangs lock on gently.

The sensation of being pinned, forced to submit, sends a jolt of lust straight to his cock which hardens beneath him. His mate grumbles, rocks against him, and he's hard, too. Hard and naked.

It's only a matter of minutes before his clothes are shredded by claws that are so careful. Fabric rips away but his skin is untouched. Cool air ghosts over him, making him shiver again, but then he's warmed by his mate covering him. Clawed hands wraps around his stomach, lifting him to his knees, and the fangs that never broke skin leave his neck, but he keeps his head down in submission.

On other nights they're equals, switching up in their big, warm bed, but here, in the forest, beneath the moon, he's the one who is always taken.

So, he prepares beforehand with a thick dildo slick with lube, and, supported by the wolf's strong hands, he reaches back, parts his ass cheeks, arches his spine, and opens himself. 

A howl of pleasure and his mate is inside him, driving to the balls with one hard thrust. It burns, but the pain is so good. He's so full and his cock is aching and dripping onto the ground. Digging one hand into the dirt, he wraps the other around his dick, pumping it, pre-cum making his hand slick, the friction just perfect. His fingers clench and he throws back his head and yells.

In their bed, they can be loving, slow, tender, but under the moon they rut like the animals they are. His mate thrusts hard and fast, driving them both across the soft dirt, skidding them both on their knees. He ignores the scrapes forming--later his mate will bathe him, gently picking dirt and grit from the minor wounds, soothing any pains. Now, all he wants is the fucking and the moon and his wolf. Claws prick at his stomach, pulling him back onto the cock inside him. He revels in it, slapping his hips backwards, pumping his dick in his fist.

He hears his mate sniffing the air, then a clawed hand knocks his away from his cock, the other grabbing his neck, forcing his face down into the moss and leaves. The new angle of his ass in the air makes the dick inside him hit his prostate with every thrust, and he shudders and whines and humps nothing.

"Please let me come, oh fuck, let me come, please," he begs, over and over, on the edge and wanting so badly. 

The wolf growls deeply, hips pummeling harder, balls slapping, and claws pricking tender skin.

Feeling his mate getting closer, losing his rhythm, hot pants of air hitting his trembling back, he begs again, this time just a non-verbal whine as his whole body shakes with both the thrusts and his own desperate need.

"Come."

"Ohgodohgodohgod, Peter!" he howls as, dick untouched, he orgasms into the dirt and over his stomach. Just that voice, so inhuman, so deep and passionate and raw...

"Stiles," Peter growls, a long, reverberating sound, as he comes in his mate and takes him carefully to the ground, their hips slowing as their hunger fades to tenderness.

Peter's tongue licks gently at the marks on Stiles' neck, the new ones that just bruised, the old, mating bite that scarred.

Stiles smiles and reaches back to caress Peter's furry cheek.

Above them the moon shines on.

* * *

66.

It’s like a call, a pull that irritates too much to be ignored and burns when he thinks about walking away. It’s a hint of something he can’t put his finger on, it lingers and doesn’t describe itself. It’s not emotion, it’s not smell. It’s creates a difference without explanation. It simply exists and he has to follow. 

It becomes his siren in a town with a banshee, a kitsune, werewolves, emissaries, hunters, and that still remembers a kanima. And yet it’s this that pulls and calls him.

Peter follows the change; keeps his eyes sharp, his breath tight, and his claws ready. He takes a breath and waits, it’s instinct as well as experience that leads him now. The wolf knows the difference between human and beast, it knows the difference between the natural and the supernatural. The man knows the routine of a cop: the station then patrol, the coffee shop then the road to the preserve, back to the station then the bar. And it’s at the bar, full of cops and wary 9-to-5’ers, that he finally puts a face to his mystery. He feels the pull again, stronger and more heady.

“Come here often?” he asks and waves for another drink for his companion and one for himself. He nods when the deputy, badge still shiny, ignores him but takes the drink. He takes the silence as invitation and inches closer, lowers his voice and smiles around his sip as his claws lengthen again, “You’re not a werewolf. And you’re not a hunter.”

Parrish stops, his glass midway to his mouth and his eyes locked on Peter’s in the bar mirror. He raises an eyebrow then brings the drink to his lips.

“You’re not a banshee or any of the other special flavors Beacon Hills seems to offer these days. But you’re not human,” he drops his hand to Parrish’s knee and squeezes, “So what are you?”

“A deputy with the Beacon Hills sheriff’s department,” Parrish answers, keeps his voice low even as he spreads his legs slightly. “Werewolves?”

Peter tightens his grip, catches the flicker when Parrish’s eyes go from green to purple. 

“Ah,” he replies, “A siren added to the mix. Funny, I always thought of sirens as … more femme fatale than Johnny on the spot.”

“Well,” Parrish bites back, “I promise, I won’t call you to your death.”

“Oh,” Peter turns, plucks the glass from Parrish’s hand and swallows the rest of his drink, “You don’t scare me, _deputy_.”

“Really?” Parrish leans closer and this time it’s _his_ hand sliding up Peter’s leg, his other pulling Peter’s barstool closer. “A siren’s call is the death of man.”

“I’m more than just a man, boy,” Peter replies. He stands, lets Parrish’s hand fall, “But I suppose I’m game if you are.” 

He leaves, confident that the deputy will follow and desperate to turn back around to make sure. He waits against the patrol car door. And waits. He nearly goes back, nearly lets himself lose control, when Parrish saunters from the bar grinning and letting the reds of his eyes burn through.

“More than a man?” he stops in front of Peter and runs his finger from button to button, smirks up at Peter, “But still ready to crawl back inside just for little old me, even with a dozen cops inside. Come on Hale, I always wanted to fuck a werewolf.”

——

Later … Peter doesn’t not remember leaving the parking lot, doesn’t not remember climbing the stairs to Parrish’s apartment. He just doesn’t remember. 

He remembers Parrish whispering in his ear. He remembers Parrish moaning into his mouth and remembers Parrish’s leg pressing between his. He remembers ripping the shirt from Parrish’s shoulders and clawing at the undershirt beneath, remembers mouthing along his skin and groaning when Parrish fisted a hand in his hair. He remembers Parrish’s fingers frantically pulling at his shirt and sliding over his chest. He remembers someone begging to go faster, someone cursing as they both fumbled with belts and shoes and zippers. 

He remembers _finally_ fucking into Parrish, remembers the wet heat and sweet release. He remembers Parrish’s voice seducing him; remembers Parrish whispering behind him, in front of him. Remembers Parrish’s voice around him, inside him. Remembers Parrish’s eyes glowing as he comes.

He remembers Parrish’s gasping as he comes, eyes wide and voice quiet. He remembers Parrish laying back, pulling Peter closer and whispering, “Not dead then.”

“Not a man.”

* * *

67.

He was the most gorgeous man Derek had ever seen, and Derek was around handsome men every night. Fancy businessmen in loosened ties and three-piece suits, rough-hewn blue-collar workers, geeky university students --

Like the one sitting at Derek's bar, chin in his hand, stirring his rum and coke with the lackadaisical drive of a lonely man.

When he was close enough to be heard over the soul-thrumming jazz music, Derek said, "There are cheaper drinks at the bar down the road."

The man startled, blinking back his surprise before smiling and stealing Derek's heart in the process.

"Are they better drinks?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" the man asked, pouting. _Jesus_. Derek had fantasized about those lips around his cock since pouring the man's drink.

"If I'm trying anything, it's at _keeping_ you," Derek said. When that smile returned, wicked and sly, Derek knew he was done for.

"I like you," he said, tilting his head the way a fox might cant an ear. "My name is Stiles."

**

Stiles came on Thursdays, his only free night between school and work. He always ordered one drink and nursed it for hours, leaving when his glass was dry.

This time, Derek kept Stiles' glass full. When the last patron left and his staff dragged themselves off, Derek locked up, and it was just the two of them. Him and Stiles.

"Your drinks have gotten better," Stiles teased. His tails curled and twitched with unsuppressed energy. 

Derek's rejoinder died on his lips. 

_Tails_.

Nine fox tails of a soft brown fur tipped with white. The love of his life was a kitsune.

Derek's surprised grunt became a delighted rumble. He pressed his nose into the crook of Stiles' neck, inhaling the scent that had long been masked by rum and coke and smoke.

He smelled _so good_. Musky and wild. Like thunder and lightning. The Celestial come down to earth just for him.

Derek's hand drifted to the base of Stiles' tails, taking hold. He wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist, half-expecting a struggle. "I've caught you."

Stiles turned his head, lips brushing Derek's cheek, and grinned a sober grin. "That's what you think."

**

Stiles' back arched deliciously, skin glistening with sweat. His hips rolled with sinuous purpose. Derek was slowly driven mad by Stiles' soft moans and the teasing brushes of fur against his skin. He scratched blunt fingers down the curve of Stiles' spine, revelling in the resulting shiver.

Stiles leaned forward, hands on Derek's shins, fucking himself onto Derek. The tails were blocking Derek's view, giving him tantalizing glimpses of his cock disappearing into Stiles' ass. Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, his eyes glazed over with lust and bliss.

Derek groaned, nearly coming from that alone. He bit one of Stiles' tails in retaliation. Another one hit him on the head.

Stiles laughed. Derek loved his laugh.

Derek wanted to buck up into Stiles. He wanted to bite and _claim_. He wanted to make this little fox _his_. 

_Fuck it_. He stopped holding back.

His knot swelled, the thick bulge at the base of his cock growing for his mate. His grip tightened around the base of Stiles' tails, only to --

Claws dug into Derek's ankles as Stiles fought for leverage. The sounds he made took on a different pitch. His tails were tense, his scent changed _just so_ \--

Derek _howled_. He let go of Stiles' tails and grabbed his hips, pulling Stiles onto his knot. There was a soft _yip_ , quickly followed by a moan. Stiles didn't so much as scramble away as to push back, and Derek's knot slipped in, swelling more.

Locking them together.

Derek rolled them over, spreading Stiles flat under him. Stiles raised his hips, a hand between his legs, stroking himself off. Derek thrusted, his movements shallow, and bit Stiles' shoulder when Stiles came, his hole tightening against Derek's knot and squeezing out his climax.

Derek collapsed on top of Stiles, winding arms tightly around him, in case Stiles somehow managed to wriggle free.

"My clever wolf," Stiles whispered after they'd both come to. He petted Derek tenderly. There was a faint smirk on his lips that made Derek at once grimace and kiss the bite on Stiles' shoulder in pre-emptive apology.

"I'm going to pay for this, aren't I?" Derek asked. 

"Only if you leave me," Stiles warned, baring his teeth.

"Never," Derek promised. "You're _mine_ , kit."

* * *

68.

He gets into the habit of falling asleep on the couch. It's not that he hates his room now, except, well, maybe he does a little. It's too empty without Derek up there and, worse, he's been dreaming about After lately.

There's only one After for Stiles: when every blink of his eyes made the memory of carnage and bodies sharper in his mind. The never-ending movie of the Nogitsune's kills playing out over and over in his head. 

The nightmares had been _choice_. It'd been a week before he could try sleeping and not puke up dinner. 

It's not that bad now, but it's not good either. The late nights in the preserve mean there's no warmth to curl into, no voice to sooth away the demon's claws, and Stiles just can't face the bedroom alone.

So the couch. 

The first few times, he's awake and up before Derek makes it into the house. He usually manages to be puttering around the kitchen by the time boots hit floor and lips brush his neck, but he knows he's not fooling anybody.

Least of all himself. 

Still, he kisses Derek goodbye in the afternoon, spends the rest of the evening working, then makes a cup of coffee and goes for the couch. The blanket Melissa and Dad made for him is waiting and he curls up to watch Jaws. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Quint's nails on the chalkboard (whatever, it works). 

The dreams are empty, ominous for what he can't see more than what he can, and he wakes up a few times with a hand outstretched. He's never quite sure what he's reaching for, but he can almost feel it, and the last time he drifts off, he can almost hear someone crying. 

Maybe him. 

When he wakes next, there's a hand pressed against his back and the steady rhythm of a heart beating beneath his ear. He doesn't look up, just takes a slow, deep breath and tries hard to melt into Derek's body.

"You could have told me, you know," Derek says, after a while, his hand starting a slow arc up and down Stiles' back. 

It should relax him, but he just squirms into it. "Could have: didn't." 

Derek snorts. "No point in asking why, right?"

Stiles looks up at him, grinning when he's rewarded with a quick flash of blue eyes. He barely has a second before they're moving, him punctuating it with a yelp, and Derek's pressing him down into the couch. It's totally not fair of him to do that, he _knows_ what it does to Stiles, but that's kind of the point and, heyyyyy, claws at the shorts. Claws at the shorts.  
Claws _inside_ the shorts.

"Careful with those," he warns, but his heart's already racing and he knows Derek can read him as easy as any book. He loves this. It's a guaranteed argument-winner with Stiles any day of the week. (Except when it isn't. Shut up, he can have layers.)

"Why?" Derek asks and his grin hints at teeth still hidden. Stiles bites his lip and pushes up into him. "Afraid?"

No.

Stiles looks at him, blue-eyed, not-quite changed, and no, he's not. Which, yeah, totally the whole point here. Some days, still, he can't trust himself, but he can always, always trust this and he pulls Derek down into a kiss. 

The hand in his shorts curls around him, jacks in a awkward rhythm, but that's good. Right. They can't get the right angle with Derek pressing him down like this, but Stiles isn't going to let him move and they both know it. 

Reluctant, Derek lets him go in favour of holding his hands instead. He presses them, one-handed, back over Stiles' head and leans into kiss him. Claws prick at his skin, counterpoint to the slow grind of Derek's body against his and Stiles lets himself get lost in it. He needs this, fuck how he needs this, drifting on the pleasure, the presence, and the certainty of safety right here and right now. 

Claws dig into his hands and Derek grinds down hard enough to make his head swim. "Afraid?" he repeats, quieter this time. 

Stiles shakes his head. 

Derek kisses him. 

"Next time? Tell me."

He won't, but for now, he knows Derek will let him have the lie.

* * *

69.

When it happens, Stiles’s whole body seizes up like he’s been electrocuted, if being electrocuted feels like getting split the fuck in half from the ass end up. The noise he makes is neither a moan nor a shout; it simply emerges from somewhere deep in his belly like a ghost that’d been trapped in there finally found its way up and out toward the light. It’s embarrassing, he should be embarrassed, but right now Stiles is too busy worrying about other stuff. Like how the fuck he’s going to survive the next hour.

Derek--Derek, bless him, looks like he’s either about to come, pass out, or call the whole thing off, looking down at Stiles’s face with so much concern it’d almost be touching if he weren’t currently responsible for making Stiles feel this way. Which is to say really, really fucking good, but also like he might die at any moment. He’s made jokes before about Derek having the peen of death based on his past track record, but he never really realized how accurate that might be until right this second.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps out, even with every fibre of his being screaming, _Abort, abort!_

He clutches at Derek’s biceps so hard that his nails dig into the muscle. He can see Derek thinking about it, forehead sheened with sweat and creased in worry, his lip caught sweetly between his teeth. Obligingly, Derek pushes in a little farther, the hard swell of his knot slipping that much deeper inside Stiles’s body, only to freeze again when Stiles makes an involuntary, choked-off noise of pleasure-pain, eyes rolling back in his head. His prostate feels like there’s a fist pushing against it relentlessly.

“Don’t stop,” he wheezes again. This time he slides his hands up into Derek’s hair so he can grab hold, keep their faces close. When he speaks, the words emerge half against Derek’s lips and half against his cheek. “I want it, don’t stop.”

Stiles never thought he’d be the one having to talk Derek into giving him his knot, considering he was still a noob at all this and had never had anything bigger than a few fingers up his own ass prior to today. Hell, as of two hours ago, he’d only ever made it to second base with another person, and now here he was, on his back with his legs in the air, cradling the sweaty, heavy weight of Derek’s body while Derek attempts to knot him. He may as well be shoving a baseball bat up there, or that’s what it feels like. Certainly, it’s nothing he planned for; they just kissed for the first time a week ago. It was inevitable, maybe, they’d end up in bed eventually, because Stiles isn’t much one for restraint and Derek is hot like burning, but he really, really hadn’t banked on his first proper look at Derek’s dick also involving firsthand proof that werewolf junk comes equipped with a little extra sumthin’ sumthin’.

“This, um,” Derek had said, blushing a furious shade of red. “This seriously never happens.”

It’s no one’s fault but Stiles’s that he never met a challenge he could walk away from. With a shrug, he’d just wrapped a hand around the swollen flesh at the base of Derek’s cock and said, “Don’t hold out on me now, big guy.”

Famous last words.

He can only imagine what it must feel like to Derek, though; it feels amazing enough when Stiles fucks his Fleshjack, and that’s not remotely comparable to a real, live boy. The way Derek’s eyes had rolled back until the whites showed when Stiles so much as gave the knot a gentle squeeze with his fingers. He and Scott were _so_ having a talk later about certain things he’d seen fit not to tell Stiles about before.

“Give it to me,” he pants when Derek buries his face in Stiles’s throat, gasping hotly. “You’re gonna make me come my face off, you don’t even know, don’t make me beg.”

“I’ve got to be hurting you,” Derek chokes out, pulling back to meet Stiles’s eyes. He looks _destroyed_.

And yeah, he is, there’s no doubt Stiles will be walking funny for the next week, but he somehow manages to smirk and cants his hips up invitingly. _More_. He glides his lips along the shell of Derek’s ear. There’s no mistaking how hard, how needily, Derek shudders against him.

“Do your worst,” he whispers. 

And Derek? Derek does.

* * *

70.

They’re lying side by side on Scott’s bed. When he leans in to kiss her, Kira rushes into it. They’re the only two people in the world or so it feels. It’s not their first time. It won’t be their last time. 

Their summer was like writing a paper about ‘What I did on my Summer vacation’ supernatural style. They’ve trained with Scott’s pack, they’ve gone to movies, they’ve fought, they’ve laughed, they’ve cried. In the middle of it though, Kira was falling in love. His eyes, the things that had attracted her at first when she saw that glint of otherworldly color, are still her favorite thing about him. 

“Scott,” she whispers while he kisses down her neck. She moves to the side to give him a better angle and hums happily when he bites down lightly on her collarbone. “Scott.”

“What?”

“I want…”

He stops and looks up at her with his chin propped on her belly. “Tell me what you want.”

“Don’t laugh.” Her stomach flips over and over with nerves. 

“Kira,” his tone is soft. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I want - “ she stops. She can’t say it, can she? She can’t say that she wants him to be part wild, part wolf. She wants him wildly. 

He crawls up her body. Chest to chest, she loves the feel of his weight on her. He’s so warm all of the time. So warm in every way. 

“What do you want?” He’s breathing heavy. Their lips are a scant inch apart and she can feel him hard against her thigh. 

“Your eyes.” 

“Yeah?”

They glint red for a flash. 

“Oh god,” she mutters. 

“Really? That makes you hot?”

She turns away, shame coloring her cheeks pink. He tries to trap her chin but she jerks out of his touch. She can feel the skin of his forehead as he leans it against her temple. He talks, lips brushing along the line of her jaw. 

“I got hard the first time you cut loose with that Kitsune stuff.”

“I was in the middle of a puddle holding onto an electrical wire. That got you hot?”

“Hard,” he corrects. 

His lips are now brushing back and forth. She can feel his lips closing and opening and she breathes out. Her hands, traitors that they are, pull at his shirt wanting to get at skin, at his skin. Now, she turns her head towards him. Their mouths meet and it’s almost angry but she knows better. It’s not anger that makes them pull at shirts and shorts, throwing them and not caring where they land. Clothes gone, time together like this makes her less inhibited and she knows where he wants touched. Dragging her fingers up his back, she digs her nails in just under his shoulderblades. His hands, move lower and then move quickly, taking her up to an edge, rubbing hard while she arches up to meet him. She tugs at him, willing his body onto hers. 

“Kira.”

She looks up at him and almost tries to back away. His features, wolfed out with sideburns elongated and teeth sharp and narrow, make her want to move away but then she looks at his eyes. They’re that warm red of a summer bonfire and she relaxes back against the pillow. 

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she breathes out. “Definitely okay.”

She keeps her eyes open, watching him, watching those eyes deepen towards a bloody garnet. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she digs her heels in hard against his ass, willing him faster. Only when he’s seconds away from coming, does he close his eyes. 

And when they open back up, they’re back to the beautiful Scott brown that she knows. She pets the side of his face where his sideburns had been only seconds before. 

“Okay?” Scott asks again. 

She only nods this time in response. He buries his nose into the side of his neck, scenting all over, and when she feels his lips spread into a smile, she smiles back.

* * *

71.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, head not lifting from Derek’s pillow. “I couldn’t sleep at my own house. Felt weird.”

“So you thought you’d take my bed?” Derek asks, settling himself on the edge of the mattress. Stiles doesn’t answer, just stretches his spine and points his toes, curls around Derek’s pillow. His baggy sweatpants twitch up at the back of his thigh and Derek stills. A moment passes where the hairs on his arms stand up and Derek pounces, pinning Stiles to the bed, hand wrapped around the back of the boy’s neck.

“You’re not him,” Derek spits. “You’re just wearing his face.”

It doesn’t even fight Derek. Instead, tilts his head to look up at Derek, eyes ill-looking. Sad pull of his eyebrows, iris and whites going glassy. 

“Don’t you trust me, Derek?” It asks, and It sounds so much like Stiles, because the entire basis of their friendship is built on that word. 

“No, because you’re not him,” Derek grits out. Stiles’ shoulders slump, defeated face crumpling. The scent he’s emitting pulls at Derek, and he lets his grip go a little looser, thinking that maybe he’s mistaken. It’s the wrong move, however, because that moment of weakness allows something to break his grip entirely as it wraps around his wrist. Something else, just as soft, grabs the other.

At once, Stiles is on him. Derek’s the one being pinned, and Stiles’ teeth are bared in a puckish grin. 

“Look at you,” Stiles says, right against his ear, hands against his chest. The skin of his cheek rasps against Derek’s beard as he drags his face across his jaw; nestles his face against Derek’s neck and takes in a lungful of air through his nose, scenting him. “Stiles loved being right here. Face buried against your throat. You smell just as he told me you would.”

“And what’s that?” Derek asks. He can feel the fox smile against his neck, the nip of his teeth before he answers.

“Defeat,” Stiles says against his skin. Derek closes his eyes, turns his face away, because he remembers what it felt like. He couldn’t move his body, but Stiles’ hot breath and shorn hair against his chin and neck is not something he’ll ever forget. 

“He was so afraid you all were going to die that he couldn’t even appreciate that you were his companion. But I can,” It whispers, licking up his neck and rolling his hips into Derek’s. 

Derek’s eyes fly open at the sensation, and he can see what he’s being held down with. It’s a tail, fluid and prehensile, wrapped around a wrist, and when he clenches the muscles in his forearm it twines further. He turns his head to look, wants to see the other side, but he’s met with Stiles sucking a mark into his collarbone, which makes Derek hard. Stiles removes his mouth to look Derek in the face, and Derek feels the creature’s hands moving between them, shoving down his sweats, and Derek’s surprise must show on his face.

“Do you like them?” Stiles asks through a smile, because Derek can see more extremities, now that they’re not being confined in his sweats. Stiles’ works Derek’s jeans open, gets his cock free, but Derek is concentrating on the steady swish of two tails over Stiles’ shoulder. He can feel another coiling around his thigh as Stiles adjusts his body so their dicks are aligned. 

“Jesus Christ,” Derek murmurs. “How many do you have?”

“I’m a thousand years old,” It whispers. “Take a wild guess.” And then another curls around both of their cocks, starts to jerk them off. Twisting round and round and making Derek arch into it, gasp when the nogitsune seals his mouth against Derek’s. Stiles is rutting against him, the steady winding of his tail seemingly not enough to satisfy him. He bites Derek’s lip as he bucks against him, draws blood though the wound seals in seconds. Stiles licks it away, amber eyes glowing down at Derek.

“Next time,” Stiles groans. “I’m going to slick one of my tails up and I’m going to fuck you with it,” he growls against his mouth, and Derek comes without warning. Warm, sticky fluid over his stomach and Stiles’ tail. The orgasm makes his toes curl and his eyes roll back into his head, but he can see the blackened veins in the nogitsune’s corded throat, and knows It’s drawing on Derek’s pleasure. It comes all over Derek a moment later.

* * *

72.

Claws raked up Stiles bare skin, making him shudder as he leaned back against Derek’s chest, his throat exposed, his hands grasping at Scott who stood before him. With an open mouth, Stiles moaned as Derek marked his neck, the sharp feel of fangs against his skin caused his knees to buckle beneath him. Scott, too, licked at Stiles’ neck as he pressed his body against Stiles’ front. 

The two of them were wolfed out as they marked Stiles, scenting him as their own. Scott’s claws were out, scraping across his stomach as Derek had his arms wrapped around Stiles’ middle. Stiles gulped, his eyes closing as he felt Scott’s hand wrap around their erections, stroking them both as he felt Derek’s cock sliding between his thighs. Scott rut his hips against Stiles, fucking up into his own hand as Stiles struggled keep his breathing under control. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, biting down on his own lip before Scott’s mouth found his, their lips crashing together. Stiles licked into Scott’s mouth, fangs catching on Stiles’ tongue as he carded his fingers through Scott’s hair, yanking it as Derek nipped at his earlobe. 

“What--” 

Stiles didn’t have time to ask what was happening before both Scott and Derek fell to their knees, Scott taking Stiles’ cock into his mouth as Derek spread his cheeks, his tongue probing at his entrance. Stiles held onto Scott’s head, his head falling forward as he rocked his hips back and forth, not knowing if he wanted more of Scott’s mouth or Derek’s. Scott looked up at him with red eyes, his mouth full of his cock. 

“Shit, you guys, I --”

As if on cue, Scott and Derek resituated themselves, Derek cupping Stiles’ face, stepping around in order to kiss him as Scott handed Stiles the lube, his own clawed hand unable to prep him. Scott spread Stiles’ cheeks as he fucked himself with two fingers, slick with lube. 

“Come on,” Scott said, his head falling to rest against Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes as Scott’s impatience as Derek returned to marking his skin. He’d be completely covered by the night’s end. Stiles liked being marked; he liked the physical representation of what they did since neither Scott nor Derek could be bruised the way he could. 

“I’m ready,” Stiles said, pulling his fingers out of his ass, his hand sliding down Scott’s thigh, smearing it with lube as Scott pressed inwards, holding tight to Stiles’ waist. Stiles groaned, the sound enveloped by Derek’s mouth as they kissed once more, deepening the kiss as Scott fucked him. Derek’s claws caught on Stiles’ nipples as they kissed, raking over them until Stiles shook between them. 

“Oh, god,” Stiles gasped as Derek stepped away from him, his hands sliding down Derek’s torso as Scott bent Stiles over, holding onto his shoulder as he thrust into him repeatedly. Stiles, his mouth hanging open, moaned as Derek took his cock in hand, rubbing it against Stiles’ lips before sliding it into his mouth. Stiles held onto Derek’s thighs, his fingers digging into him as Derek held onto the back of Stiles’ head, fucking his mouth as Scott’s pace quickened. 

Stiles could feel Scott’s knot getting bigger inside of him as his movements slowed, his mouth on Stiles’ back as he licked up his spine, a hand wrapped around Stiles’ cock. Derek, too, filled Stiles’ mouth with his knot. Stiles, his eyes stinging, tears rolling down his cheeks from the strain, looked up at Derek’s blue eyes, at his feral, wolfed out form. Stiles came, his eyes closing as he was held in place between the two of them. 

Scott thrust within him in short bursts as he came, filling Stiles up as Derek stilled, the feel of his claws in Stiles’ hair, digging into his scalp making Stiles groan as he felt Derek spill down his throat. Stiles coughed, gagging as he sputtered, come dripping down his chin onto the floor before them.

Above him, he could tell that Derek and Scott kissed, as Derek’s hands left his head, cupping Scott’s face with his own. Stiles breathed through his nose as best he could, waiting for the knots to go down. Once they did, he was sore, but fully satiated as he rubbed at his aching jaw. The three of them curled up on the couch, wrapping their arms around each other. 

“I smell like you both, now.” 

“Like pack,” Scott agreed.

* * *

73.

"Stay back," Derek growled. He was hiding in the shadows, but his glowing blue eyes let Chris know exactly where he was. 

Chris wasn't sure what Kate had done to Derek, but between the eyes and the way his words were slurred by fangs, he was pretty sure it wasn't good. "I'll call Scott—"

"No!" Derek yelled and it came out almost like a roar, echoing around the ruined building. 

"Everyone's looking for you." Chris said. "What happened?"

Derek took a long time to answer but he finally did, spitting out each word angrily. "She wanted to fuck me. When I said no she triggered a heat."

Chris sucked in a surprised breath. He'd always thought heats were just myths. "Did she…?"

"No," Derek bit out. "Never again. Not her."

"That's good. That's good, Derek." His sister had done enough to Derek without adding drugging and raping to the list. Unfortunately all of the myths about heats agreed on one thing: Derek was going to have to fuck someone or go mad. "Is there someone I should call?"

"No."

"Derek," Chris said gently. "You'll go mad if you don't—"

"No," Derek repeated. He stepped out of the shadows and revealed that he was in full beta transformation. "I can't change back. I won't risk hurting anyone."

Chris took a deep breath. "Another werewolf could handle it. I'm sure Scott—"

"I won't fuck a child," Derek snapped, his fangs clacking together on the last word. 

"Of course." Each and every time Derek was presented with an easy option he took the harder, higher ground. Chris respected that. He respected Derek and the last thing he wanted was for him to suffer more at the hands of the Argent family. Making up his mind Chris untucked his shirt and started unbuckling his belt. "Do you trust me Derek?"

"Yes," Derek answered and Chris was surprised at how much it pleased him to hear that.

"Then trust that I can handle it."

Derek hesitated for another few seconds, but by the time Chris was naked he surged forward. He grabbed Chris by the arms, his claws digging in just shy of drawing blood and pushed him down onto his hands and knees. "Don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I trust you." 

Derek whined and spread Chris' cheeks, licking a hot stripe up his crack before settling in to lave at his hole. Chris gasped and dropped forward onto his elbows. He'd never been rimmed before, but each caress of Derek's tongue felt amazing. 

Derek slowly worked his tongue into Chris' body, loosening the muscles and opening him up. Chris may have started this out of a sense of obligation, but by the time Derek was stabbing into him with his tongue, he was hard and dripping precome onto the floor. 

Derek pulled back. "Need to knot."

"Do it."

"It _will_ hurt," Derek warned and Chris knew that if he said "no" now, Derek would stop and let the heat burn him to death. Derek was the strongest person he knew.

"I can handle it." He closed his eyes and spoke the shameful truth. "I want it."

Derek whined again, a pleased sound, and mounted him. That was the only word for what happened. One minute Chris was empty and the next he was full. It hurt, burning more than he'd imagined, but he knew Derek was too far gone to hold back so he gritted his teeth and accepted each long thrust. 

Eventually Derek's dick brushed over his prostate and Chris' entire body lit up, pleasure overriding the pain, and he writhed back, trying for more. He wondered what his father would say if he could see him now—on his knees for a werewolf being fucked to within an inch of his life…and liking it.

Derek ground forward one last time and bit down gently on the back of Chris' neck, holding him in place while his knot expanded impossibly wide in Chris' ass. The stretch hurt, but the pressure against his prostate felt amazing. The mix of pleasure and pain overwhelmed him and he passed out as he came. 

When he woke he was on his side cradled in Derek's arms. They were still locked together by the knot. 

"I'm sorry," Derek whispered.

"I'm not." Sure he'd be sore for a few days, but he'd actually enjoyed himself and more importantly Derek was alive. Chris covered Derek's hand with one of his own and squeezed gently.

* * *

74.

It was cold out, colder than a night in May had any right to be. Stiles didn't worry. Derek's a big bad wolf with natural fur even in his human form now that he'd stopped shaving, not that it mattered because he'd run off all fangs and claws and retro sideburns.

Stiles rubbed his bare arms because, hello, state of undress and arousal. He imagined that there'd be a special place in hell for people who leave certain other people hot and bothered in scary dark forests to fend for themselves; he imagined it vividly and in great detail.

“Just for the record,” he told the trees, “making out in the woods was not actually my idea.” Well. It was a little bit his idea. A spur of the moment thing.

He found Derek near the place where the Hale house used to be. Sometime in the last year the county had torn it down and left nothing but bad memories. Derek was pacing, head bowed, pale moonlight on his bare shoulders. Stiles' heart lurched in his chest. For all that Derek had issues and communicated primarily in sarcastic eye rolls and eyebrow movement, Stiles knew the set of his shoulders, knew that he was struggling with something big.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Derek whipped around, startled expression on his face, and Stiles realized that he hadn't noticed him at all. Derek who still slept fitfully and woke with every unusual sound, who walked into a room and immediately found all the exits, hadn't sensed him in his approach. Huh.

“Stiles, you need to go.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I need a hot bath, dude, and a new subscription to SWTOR, but what I don't need is my boyfriend being an evasive lurker.”

“Stiles! Just go.”

Derek's vehemence took him aback for all of three seconds, until Stiles realized that Derek's eyes were glowing. “Whoa, Derek, you okay?” Derek looked wolfy and out of it, as bad as Scott had been in those first crazy days after the bite.

Stiles smiled. “Hey, it's okay. Whatever's got you so worked up, we're going to squash it.”

“There's no- Stiles, it's not-”

Oh. Wow. It all made sense in a rush of realization. Derek had been losing control when they were having sex. It explained all the weirdness of the last few days, all the moments when Stiles thought they might be having problems, that Derek was maybe losing interest in him, spending more time in the bathroom than in bed together.

_“Oh.”_

Derek twisted away but Stiles wouldn't have it. He stepped into Derek's space and grabbed him by the shoulders, leaning in because that's where he belonged. He went for the kiss as Derek flinched. “Dude, just let me,” Stiles said and grinned. He licked one of the fangs, tongued it like it was a piece of precious jewelry. “There's nothing about you that isn't beautiful.” He gently tugged at the elf-like ears to draw a whimper out of Derek. Stiles rested one hand on the back of Derek's neck and squeezed. He could feel the tension under his fingers, the urge to run away.

“I can't control it,” Derek whispered, despair evident in his voice.

Stiles smiled. “Of course you can. You've got that wolfy side locked up tighter than a prisoner in Alcatraz. But I think, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think I make you feel like you don't have to hide it.”

Derek whined. “Stiles.”

They kissed, hard and sloppy, with Derek's fangs nicking the soft skin of Stiles' bottom lip. “Come on,” Stiles gasped. “Don't hold back. You don't have to hold back with me.”

Derek growled, maneuvered them backward until Stiles felt rough tree bark at his back. Derek still looked a bit uncertain, blue eyes glowing in the dark. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Stiles cocked his hip, grinding his erection against Derek's thigh. “I want you to bite me.”

Derek froze. “What?”

Grinning, Stiles slid his hands down Derek's back to grab his ass. “I want you to fuck me, hard and fast and without thinking so damn much. And when you come, I want to feel you inside me, your teeth, your dick, everything.”

Derek licked his lips. “You're sure.” It wasn't a question.

Stiles nodded and bared his throat. “Come on, show me what you got, Pup.”

* * *

75.

"Harder," Lydia grunts out, arching forward so she can grab hold of the edge of the mattress, the metal frame biting into the soft skin of her fingers. The worn material of the top she's wearing drags against her hard nipples. 

Derek's pounding her from behind, one hand down on the mattress next to her for leverage. He's being rougher with her than he usually is, Derek's normally so gentle, he lays her down, fucks her slowly, _makes love_ to her. He gets off on that, he gets off on the soft sighs, and the slow spiral into orgasm. 

But not Lydia, no, she likes this. She likes face down, ass up, rug burn on her knees and elbows. She likes feeling it the next day, the dull ache that says that Derek's given her everything he's got, that he's understood how breakable she's not, that he can show her every part of himself and she won't cower, she'll welcome it with open arms. 

Lydia's two orgasms down, her cunt is puffy and swollen, her clit is slick and hard, every touch to it, direct or not, pushes her further toward another orgasm.

" _Lydia_." Derek's long passed anything but her name, just her name, and wordless groans. 

His pace slows until she's shoving back against him, clenching around his dick. She wants more, now. A frustrated noise slips from her lips as Derek slides a hand gently, but firmly between them, down to where he's buried in her cunt. 

"Derek..." she whines as she grinds back against him. He stops her with a firm hand on her hips, sure to leave marks in the morning. "Give me more." 

A thick finger pushes inside and her breath hitches, head falling forward and hair cascading, blocking the room from sight. His thumb reaches up and strokes at her clit, firmly circling, just how she likes it. 

When she's this fucked out, sometimes it takes a little bit more to tighten her cunt up. The thrusts slowly start back up, Derek's finger stroking in time. 

She knows he's getting close when he becomes a solid weight on her back, nose buried in the worn out henley she's wearing, she can hear the deep inhales over the loud sound of them fucking, the slap of flesh on flesh. 

"You like it, huh?" She's trying to ride his hand, riding herself toward her orgasm, clenching tight to bring Derek along with her. "You like it when I smell like you? When other people can see me in your clothes, know that I've got someone, because they'd never be mine, would they?" The words come between thrusts that have her holding onto the edge of the creaking mattress. 

 

His thumb is still circling with steady precision even though his thrusts are becoming erratic, he's close, so close. His hand stutters as he comes, pulling out to blindly search hers out, warm from her body he entwines their fingers together. Her palms are scored with the marks of the bed frame, his are slick with her juices. 

"Love you smelling like me, inside and out," he mumbles, breath hot on the small of her back, henley rucked up so he can feel her skin. "Love people knowing that we're each others, love that you want to be mine."

"Love you too, Derek." She buries her smile into the mattress, clenches around his softening cock. He gasps, slowly withdraws and replaces his dick with his fingers.

They stay in position as he swipes a finger through the hot come that runs out of her. She pushes down and feels him draw it up, paint her throbbing lips with it, her dusting of pubic hair already plastered to her skin. 

One hand tangles in the henley, stretching it out as he starts roughly bringing her off, thrusting in and out, circling slowly, maddeningly around her clit. Even as she tries to move her hips, to buck back against him he stops her, makes her wait for her last orgasm, lets it build, slowly, slowly. 

Her muscles tense, her body stills, as if frozen as her orgasm washes over her, pure bliss that plateaus before it spirals out of control. Until she lets her legs slip from under her as she collapses onto the bed, Derek following suit beside her. 

"Mmm, I should borrow your shirts more often."

The only response is a snuffly grunt from her side, Derek's face buried between her and the mattress.

* * *

76.

The plug is _much_ bigger than it looked online. Stiles isn’t sure it’s going to fit; the widest girth is bigger than his hand. However, the documentation promises _The most realistic Alpha knot experience you’ll ever have without the Alpha!_ He’s more than willing to try it.

He’s just glad his dad left early for work, because it takes half a bottle of lube to get it in while he makes noises he wasn’t aware he was capable of. He is stretched open, the plug thoroughly seated, his dick is limp from the effort. His nerves are on fire—he feels like it wouldn’t take much to get him up if he tried.

Stiles considers it for maybe three seconds, but he’s already late to school and with only a month left before graduation, he doesn’t want to fuck up his chance to finally escape high school. He yanks on his boxers, pulls up his loosest pair of sweats, and prays he can manage to sit still for an entire day.

He is going to have the best Stiles-happy-time when he gets home. The _best_. He just has to make it through the day.

#

By mid-afternoon, he’s barely able to walk. He limps into English and sinks into the chair, wiggling to find a position that doesn’t drive the plug further in. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all. It moves constantly, like he’s knotted and tied and still going about his daily business. All Stiles wants is to get it _out_ , but he still has three periods to go… and one of them is gym.

The thought makes him sink down in his chair, whining.

“You reek, dude.” Scott sits next to him.

Isaac flanks him, smirking. “Were you jerking off in the locker room?”

“That was _once_ in _sophomore year_ ,” Stiles whispers angrily. “Let it go.”

“All day you’ve smelled like you want to be fucked.” Scott leans in close to him. “Seriously, dude, are you going to jizz in your pants during class?”

 _Jizz in his pants_. His dick twitches weakly, then goes limp again. Stiles bites his lip, glancing between them, not sure he wants to answer.

Gentle fingers at the nape of his neck are unexpected. “We’ll skip gym,” Isaac murmurs. “Take care of you.”

Stiles aches too much to say no.

#

“Holy shit.” Isaac brushes against the plug. “I’m going to fuck him first, then you, Scotty. Okay?”

Stiles nods, frantic. “Just get it out, _please_.”

It’s such a _relief_ , leaving him empty, aching _,_ so _fucking_ wet from all the lube he used. Isaac slides in like nothing and it feels so _good_ , slick and rough, thrusting hard and deep and fast. Scott takes Stiles’s dick in his mouth, laving his length, tracing the veins and circling the head until Stiles cries out.

“Fuck.” Isaac jerks and comes, filling Stiles with his heat. “Scott, he’s so fucking ready for you.”

Scott is already inside of Stiles before he remembers: “Fuck, Scott, you’re an _alpha_.”

Scott nips at Stiles’s shoulder. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? An alpha’s knot?”

Stiles whimpers in response and _ohfuckinggod_ , Isaac’s mouth is a fucking dream. He lets Stiles tangle his fingers in Isaac’s curls and drive deep.

Scott grunts, his knot is swelling, stretching Stiles, making it harder to move. 

“Fuck,” Stiles swears under his breath. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, tongue soothing gentle nips to his shoulder. Hips twitch, fucking the knot deeper with aching slowness until Stiles can’t help but lose control.

The orgasm starts at his toes, shivering through his entire body, leaving him shaking and limp, jizz sprayed down Isaac’s throat and across his face. Scott growls and comes, one arm wrapped around Stiles’s waist, holding him up. Stiles feels so _full_ ; he’s going to be dripping and aching for days.

But it’s _good_. It’s so _fucking_ good.

“I love you, dude.” It’s just fact, because not every guy would do this for his bro.

“Any time,” Scott says, smiling fondly.

“The real thing’s always better than a plug,” Isaac tells him, and Stiles guesses he must know from experience. He has to agree: it was fucking _amazing_.

Scott gently pulls him down to the floor; they curl there, all three together, warm and limp and sated. Thankfully they’ve got time before class is over, because really, the last thing Stiles needs today is to get caught by Finstock while Scott’s dick is tied in his ass.

* * *

77\. 

Stiles hears fabric tear as Derek wrenches his shirt off his shoulder.

His mark burns as Derek tugs his head down by the hair, inhaling against Stiles’ skin. Derek licks and sucks along the stretched muscle of his neck, from earlobe to clavicle.

Derek growls low, breath hot. "How did you not stop and think of all the ways this could go wrong?"

-

Stiles rifles through the worn, moth-bitten pages of a musty book. “It seems easy enough.”

“Have you done magic before?”

“Other than that badass mountain ash circle, you mean?”

“Can you even read French?”

Stiles wants to mock Derek’s tone, but he also wants to live. “Uh, I took French freshman year. I think that’s a step up from nothing.”

Derek doesn’t even bother looking up from whatever box he’s rummaging through. “Put it back.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. _Yeah, sure. Safety first, says Safety Expert_ Derek Hale.

They’ve got 24 hours, maybe, to get Derek’s wolfie face back and Derek wants to play it safe.

Of course, the book could be helpful... if only Stiles had the time to peruse without Derek being all, “No, Stiles, that’s dangerous, Stiles, I need a safe way to get my wolfitude back so I can claw the throats out of a horde of wild magic sasquatches.”

Or whatever.

Stiles doesn’t see anyone else offering up any helpful suggestions.

He slips the book into his bag.

Stiles begs off for the night, pleading weak humanity, and sets off to work once he gets home; it's midnight when he finally finds it.

_High moon, the beast lies in sleep;_  
Awaken! Awaken!  
The beast stirs when brand is taken;  
Awaken! Awaken! 

-

The mark is small--Stiles didn’t think its size mattered so much as its symbolic nature--but it feels big.

He’s glad he chose a subtle location on his hip for it because he _knows_ , in his bones, that it won’t ever go away now.

Derek’s claws--oh god, _sharp claws_ \--rake lightly down his back, pausing at his ass to let the soft pads of his fingers grope cheeks. Stiles moans, feeling his cock and pucker twitch.

Stiles doesn’t even know how they’ve gotten to this point--Stiles rutting in wolfed-up Derek Hale’s lap, naked on his bed.

Derek clamps down on his shoulder with human teeth and suddenly, Stiles feels a gush of liquid squirting out his ass.

“Holy! What the fuck!” Stiles shouts, unable to resist reaching back and shoving two fingers up himself. It’s hot and tight. Stiles can’t hold his head up, leans down to suck a bruise behind Derek’s ear.

“I need to put my knot in you, _now_ ,” Derek grumbles, adding a--thankfully--human finger into the mix. His cock isn’t far off, nudging its way along Stiles’ crack.

His every action feels out of his control, movements on autopilot. Stiles brings his fingers to Derek’s lips and watches as he sucks them both off, scrapes them with fanged teeth. He levers Stiles by his ass, pulling cheeks apart with large, solid hands, onto his dick.

As Stiles sinks down, presses deep until he’s fully seated on Derek's cock, he realizes how thick Derek is. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, yelps as Derek leans back on the bed, taking Stiles with him. They roll so Stiles is on his back and Derek gains enough leverage to thrust. Stiles chokes off on a moan as Derek gets a few pumps in before quickly shifting them back around.

“Ride me,” Derek whimpers.

Stiles accepts the plea, rolling his hips around, ass rising and falling in tandem with Derek’s throaty mewling. And then he can’t, Derek’s knot grown abundant with seed and _where the fuck did that thought come from jesus fucking_ \--

The knot hits his prostate with _every. little. movement._

Every tug, every shift... It’s too much. Come shoots out his dick and covers Derek from navel to stupid werewolf-shaped forehead.

Derek howls, streams what feels like a flood of come into Stiles.

They pass out.

-

“I told you not to mess with magic,” Derek mutters.

“Whoa, hey, it worked, didn’t it? Your grumpywolf self is back, so we’re looking pretty good from my angle.” Stiles tugs at Derek’s still-full knot and surrenders a moan. “It--it was good?”

Derek sniffs, resolutely doesn’t look at Stiles. “What spell d'you find anyway?”

“Oh, this one?” Stiles shows Derek out of the book still at his bedside. “Awakening the beast or some shit.”

“Stiles, you idiot.”

“What?”

“That’s ‘mate’, not ‘beast’!”

* * *

78.

Derek wanted the knot to fill him and claim him. Werewolves usually came to the club to bury themselves in someone, pin their human to the bed, knot swollen and tender. Derek never felt that need.

But no matter how many times he’d imagined being knotted, he’d never pictured Stiles pressed close to him in the darkness, saying, “I can help you. Do you trust me?”

The playroom Stiles took him to had a fairly spacious bed and assorted equipment that Derek didn’t even want to consider. He craned his neck a little and caught sight of some dildos, knots big and odd looking. Shit. He turned to look at Stiles, and calmed a little at the smile that made his eyes crinkle. 

“Not big on the dildos, eh?” 

Derek shook his head. 

“Don’t worry.” Stiles held something flesh-colored toward him. “It goes on my dick. It’s a fake knot, but here, feel it.”

It felt like flesh too. And shit, this was… His breath grew labored. 

He looked up to meet Stiles’s eyes, coming to the mind-numbing realization that he was going to be knotted by _Stiles_. In a sense. In the sense that mattered. 

He clutched the knot in his hand and moved forwards, emboldened by the privacy of the room and the fact that Stiles had offered him this. 

As they undressed, Derek let his touches linger and his lips press nipping kisses to random spots. But when Derek kneeled naked on the bed, Stiles took over, hands dragging over his hips, warm and purposeful.

Pressing his face into the covers, Derek tried to keep a tight grasp on his instincts, pushing back the need to shift. When a finger pressed at the tip of the plug in his ass, he jerked and Stiles hummed. 

“You’re prepared.”

Derek made a soft noise into the bed, a little mortified. He’d spent long minutes stretching himself open for the plug, wearing it for hours.

“So hot, Derek. So ready for my knot.” 

Derek’s fingers twisted into the covers, the wolf shifting ever closer to the surface. He moved his hips a little, rocking in place with his knees digging into the mattress. 

When Stiles pulled at the plug, easing it out of him, Derek focused on his breath as pleasure curled in his gut. The tip of a finger traced his rim, slow and careful. Derek pushed back into the movement, rapidly moving past the point of shame. 

There was no knot when Stiles’s cock sank into him, so, so slowly until Derek’s pulse was roaring in his ears. It was just the easy glide of Stiles’s cock and the press of Stiles’s hips against his. 

Derek let out a groan and pushed back onto Stiles’s cock, squeezing his eyes shut. It filled him so good, slamming into him harder as Stiles found his rhythm. 

“Stiles, come on,” he said, beyond the point of caring that he was begging. “Come on.”

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, okay.”

Derek had to bite back a whine when Stiles pulled out. He used the moment to center himself, calming the barely-contained instincts pushing his limits. He wanted to be knotted, he needed it, he’d wanted it for so long, he didn’t know he could have it with Stiles, it was—

His back arched as Stiles sank back in until the swell of the knot pressed against his rim and Derek cried out, claws popping out and piercing the cover. 

“Oh, shit,” Stiles said, fingers tightening on Derek’s hips. 

“ _In_ ,” Derek rasped, sounding barely human. 

There was no real control left when his skin was pulled impossibly tight around the knot. Stiles pressed into him, draping himself across Derek’s back as he filled him up. Derek whimpered into the covers, claws dug deep into the mattress and his teeth drew blood against his lips. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me knot you,” Stiles said, low, against his skin. “So fucking hot. Is it good?”

Derek couldn’t answer, only made breathy sounds as he rocked back against the swollen flesh keeping him open and stretched. 

For a moment, Stiles fumbled for something and then, without warning, the knot swelled even further, pushing at Derek’s hole until he couldn’t hold anything together anymore. He came, clamping down around Stiles, silent and shaking under the weight of Stiles pinning him down.


	8. Group D - no pairings or warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning -- Contains NSFW art!

79.

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**Title:** Best. Purchase. Ever.

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